


Stockholm

by DearSherlock



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Coercion, Corporal Punishment, Edgeplay, F/M, How to Train Your Dragon / Sherlock crossover, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Threats, pirate!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 90
Words: 148,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearSherlock/pseuds/DearSherlock
Summary: I am very, very sorry about this but it must get out of my head or will drive me insane.Pirate!Sherlock takes in young Hiccup on a training assignment, since his father feels he has been running a little wild and could do with educating in the finer arts. Little does Hiccup realise that Sherlock takes his practical education very seriously. First port of call is a slave market on a nearby island where the pair obtain a 'domestic help' in the form of the shell-shocked and only recently captured Bethany, who is not a dumb blonde but is having some issues keeping up with things, at least initially.Trigger warnings for graphic violence, pain, blood, sharp blades, needles, self harm, corporal punishment, non-con, dubious-con, manipulation, dom/sub, Stockholm syndrome and threats for the whole fic.





	1. Chapter 1

She’d picked them out in the crowd well before they came to the platform where she was standing, because they stood out amongst the throng of muscular Vikings clad in brown leather armour: the tall, impeccably dressed man with the dark hair wearing a black long coat, his white lace cuffs making it clear he was one – or several – steps removed from those engaged in manual labour; and the gangly boy dressed in intricately detailed black and brown armour, who on further scrutiny must be older than he looked, engaged in animated conversation with the tall man. He was all hands and gestures and elaborate argument, while his companion appeared to respond in curt nods, and the occasional short word. They came to a stop in front of the stand where she was, so to speak, on display. She noticed the boy missed half of his left leg, its replacement an intricate piece of metalwork.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I still don’t see why we need to buy in domestic help. I honestly don’t mind doing a few chores, and there isn’t that much between the two of us anyway. I mean, look at them. They all look various degrees of terrified.” The boy made a sweeping gesture towards the platform.

He was right – it was a sorry lot that was put up for sale there, recently captured slaves who had been brutally taken away from their homes only a few nights earlier, still in shock and most with no idea of what happened to their families. The girl next to her was crying quietly. Bethany pushed away the memory of that night but it was hard to forget the confusion, and fire, and screaming. The acute fear and panic of the night had tapered into low-level terror during the journey that followed, ten or fifteen or so of them stuffed into the hold of a ship, hands and feet bound, with only occasional supplies of water and very little food for what she believed was three or four days. They stank when they were finally brought out, and the traders had poured buckets of ice cold water over them all to wash the worst of it off. They had dried, in a fashion, in the watery spring sun of the archipelago and had then been dragged onto the rickety wooden platform and told to behave. Looking around her, most of the girls were too terrified or numb to even move. She didn’t feel much better herself, but was determined to focus on the current danger she was in, as a burly looking Viking appeared to take a lecherous interest in her. She shuddered.

The tall man in the black coat shrugged. “They are always like that. Listen, Hiccup. It is not becoming of someone in your position to be sweeping floors. Your father sent me to you for an education, and that is what I intend to give you. Now pick one.”

The boy looked up again with a look of resignation and barely hidden distaste, casting his eyes over the sorry bunch. “Fine. That one. She looks capable,” he said eventually, waving in Bethany’s general direction. The man next to him raised an eyebrow and gave him an amused glance, but made no further comment. The two went off to negotiate with the slave trader, leaving Bethany in a mixture of numbness and panic, quite unable to move or, for that matter, think. An avalanche of panicked thoughts and questions fought for priority in her head, but the end result was paralysis. She was going to be taken away by these two, and all the rest was uncertainty.

\--oOo--

Apparently negotiations were quick and successful, because it seemed to her that no time had passed when she was snapped out of her numb state by a rough pull on her bound arms. “Move it already, I said!” growled the trader as he almost dragged her down the rickety wooden steps onto the road. She stumbled and nearly fell as she was pulled onto the rough surface, gravel cutting into her bare feet, but managed to steady herself in time.

“Oi, careful!” the boy snapped at the trader, quickly extending a hand to help her stay upright, while at the same time the tall man said quietly, “no need for that.” The slave trader merely gave the pair a scowl and muttered something under his breath, undoubtedly rude, then walked back to his makeshift desk. The tall man drew himself up to his full height, hand moving to a weapon under his coat, ready to face the challenge but the boy said, “it’s not worth it, Sherlock. He’s an idiot. Let’s just get out of here, this place stinks.”

After a moment’s silence the tall man turned back to the boy and to Bethany, who had her eyes fixed unseeing on the ground in fear and denial. He gave her a quick look over, then took her chin to make her look at him. She struggled to meet his eyes, and when she finally did she was struck by the intensity of his gaze, clear pools of green and blue scrutinising her with seemingly very little emotion but a great deal of perception. He said softly, “don’t try to run, you wouldn’t get far.” Then he gestured to her arms and said to the boy. “Sort her out, will you.”

The boy Hiccup produced a small knife from a sheath somewhere in his armour and cut the cords binding Bethany’s arms with a few quick strokes. It woke her up, in a way, although the feeling of terror did not subside, nor the sensation of being studied. Being able to move her arms after three or four days of immobility felt like freedom. She briefly wondered how far she might be able to run, but without having had any substantial food while being held captive she knew that the tall man was right. She wouldn’t get far, and it wouldn’t make her situation any better. For the moment her fate was sealed, and she let herself be steered meekly down the road towards the harbour. In the back of her mind, a small thought formed. _Meek. Never in your life have you been meek. Your dad always did say you’d get into trouble. And now look at you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No apologies. My brain is warped and I blame this on my children who have made me watch far too much Dragons. Besides, Pirate!Sherlock had to be written.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're on a boat. And there's a dragon.
> 
> WARNINGS: Those familiar with my fics know that I make my characters suffer, especially the female ones. There will be icky things that make your toes curl and if you are not comfortable with this you shouldn't read this fic.

The ship was small and well kept, but it wasn’t that which caught her attention immediately when they arrived at the moorings. A large black dragon was asleep on the deck, rumbling snores reverberating through the hull of the ship and causing the single mast to shudder. She stopped dead, causing Hiccup, who was coming up behind her, to walk straight into her.

“Wha-... Oh.” He followed her gaze. “Yeah, it’s a dragon. Wait a minute. Sherlock!”

The tall man had continued ahead and now stopped to see what was happening. Hiccup gestured to the ship. “Eh, I don’t think she’s travelled with dragons before.”

While Hiccup was talking the dragon woke up, and with one excited leap bounded off the boat and towards the boy. Bethany snapped out of her torpid state, screamed, turned and ran blindly back where they had come from, out of the harbour and up the hill. There were shouts behind her, and people scattered in front of her. She kept running wildly, desperately hoping that if she could just get back in between the houses she might be safe.

She didn’t even get a third of the way. The black shape of the dragon appeared from above and in front of her as if from nowhere, one of its large, leathery wings enveloping her as she ran and a strong talon pushing her towards the ground. She fell screaming, fully expecting to feel hot breath or teeth next, to be torn limb from limb in the middle of this dusty street. Instead, she heard Hiccup’s voice coming from somewhere above her.

“Well done, bud. Right, let’s do this again. Girl, this is Toothless. Yes, he’s a dragon. No, he’s not going to eat you. I’m going to ask him to get off you in a moment, and I’d appreciate it if you could not run away again.” He stopped a moment. “Do you have a name?”

“B... b... b...” she managed, but nothing else.

Hiccup waited a little, then decided that that was all he was going to get. “Right. Fine. ‘Buh’, we’re going to get off you, and you’re going to walk with me to the ship, and Toothless will come with us. And you won’t run. Understood?”

 _None of this is happening_ , she thought. _I’m going to wake up in a moment._ She managed to nod, just, and here was a light thud as Hiccup appeared beside her. She felt the weight of the dragon’s foot leave her back, at the same time as the boy grabbed her upper arm and pulled her easily to her feet. _Much stronger than he looks_ , an absentminded thought notified her, and she acknowledged it with a side thought not to underestimate this boy, this young man – she wasn’t even sure what he was.  Despite her state of shock she looked at him and found him studying her in return. Quick, clever brown eyes not without sympathy, but quite determined. “Come on”.

They walked back to the harbour, the dragon following them down, Hiccup holding lightly onto her arm. The numbness had returned, and she moved like a sleepwalker traversing a bad dream - onto the moorings, across the gang plank, and aboard the ship.

\--oOo--

“You made it, then,” the deep voice of the taller man came from the back of the vessel. He was rigging the main sail ready for the journey, temporarily hidden from view.

“Yeah, well, you know. A little slave wrestling before dinner keeps the mind and body fresh”, Hiccup called back. “Besides, Toothless needed the practice.”

The dragon had come on board and had curled up in the middle of the deck on a pile of sail cloth, watching the girl but making no move to pounce on her. Hiccup led Bethany to the prow and made her sit on a pile of sacks. “Stay there so you won’t get in the way. I’ll get you a drink.” 

He walked off and disappeared below decks, and for the first time since being bought by the pair Bethany found herself alone. _It would be easy to jump_ , she thought, looking over the side of the ship. _I could hide under water, or swim to the other shore_. She furtively looked towards the back of the ship to see if anyone was taking notice of her. The dragon met her eye, emitting a low but unmistakably threatening grumble. She changed her mind.

\--oOo--

The sail went up, the mooring lines were drawn in and after they had navigated out of the harbour and the boat picked up speed the tall man gave the tiller to Hiccup and came over to Bethany. He stood in front of her while she stared at his boots, not sure whether to cast her eyes up or down. “Look at me.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his but didn’t get further than his hands. He was holding a thin metal collar, unadorned other than for the beautifully crafted clasp and lock, and with a steel ring in the centre along its rim. Her eyes shot up to his face, and were met with amusement. “Do you have a name, girl?”

“B... Bethany,” she managed to stammer.

“Well then, Bethany”, he said, with a cheerfulness that belied the seriousness of her situation, “Welcome to the good ship Storm Petrel. My name is Sherlock and I am, for better or for worse, its captain, and your owner. And I have come to bring you a small gift.”

While he was talking he knelt down and deftly slipped the collar around her neck, lifting her messy blonde curls out of the way and fastening the lock. “There.” He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a length of thin but strong looking chain. One side he locked onto the collar ring, the other end was fastened swiftly onto a ring on the deck. “It’s dragon proof, don’t waste your energy trying to break that,” he added, quite seriously this time.

It was all happening much too quickly, and Bethany was still stuck on the name of the ship and its captain. “Sh... Sherlock,” she said. Now she knew where she had heard the name before.

“Yes...?”

She looked at him, part dread, part disbelief. “P... pirate.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories. Clearly the stutter isn’t permanent. I suggest you pull yourself together. We didn’t buy you to hurt you.”

He got up and briefly contemplated her. “And that is Master Sherlock to you, or Sir. And the same goes for Master Hiccup.”

He walked off with that, leaving her to her confused thoughts and the clarity that there was, at present, no means of escape. After a while Hiccup came over with some bread and a mug of thin beer. “Oh, you’ve been put on a leash.” He shouted towards the tiller, “Sherlock, is that really necessary?”

It took a moment for Sherlock to fasten the tiller to their current course and come over. “I assume you have better things to do than to keep watch on her for two and a half days. Even Toothless needs to sleep, Hiccup. This way she won’t jump.”

He took a small box from his pocket and sat down. “The ship will sail itself for awhile. Observe.” Opening the box, he took out a small oil burner, a couple of needles tied to pieces of wood, and a small pot of black ink. He proceeded to light the burner, passing the first needle backwards and forwards until it glowed, then allowed it to cool down. Carefully putting it down so that its tip touched only air, he repeated the process with the second needle. Then he extinguished the flame and took Bethany’s left hand, gently pushing up the sleeve of her ragged dress, turning the wrist upwards. She watched in detached horror, no longer able to register or care about what was happening to her as Sherlock dipped the smallest needle in the ink. Hiccup was watching intently. “That’s going to hurt, right?”

Sherlock looked up. “There’s much worse.”

Hiccup glanced at his missing leg, and hummed in agreement, “Yeah.”

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to tattoo the outline of a small but perfectly shaped storm petrel on Bethany’s wrist. After everything else that had happened to her in the last few days the pain was almost irrelevant, although she vaguely realised that some of that might be shock speaking. He filled the outline in rapidly, then took a small jar of grease from the box and spread it lightly over the new tattoo. “There,” he said in a satisfied tone. “Mine.” He let go of her arm.

Hiccup was quiet for a while. “Done that a lot, have you?”

Sherlock looked at him calmly. “Yes.”

For a moment it looked like Hiccup was going to question further, but in the end he decided to leave it alone. He, too, had heard the stories, and in this case it was probably better not to know.

Bethany, meanwhile, was withdrawing into herself as night was slowly falling, and her mind baulked against taking in everything that had happened in the last few days. She couldn’t bear to think about the implications of the tattoo, not yet, and was just glad that it was done. Sitting back, she hugged her burning arm to her body and closed her eyes, the only way to escape from a reality that was assaulting her sense of right and wrong at every turn, away from these two men – one undoubtedly dangerous, a name doused in blood and misdeeds from the stories that were told about him, the other apparently just a kid, but a strange, grown-up one, with a dragon. She felt herself sinking into sleep as the slow rocking movement of the boat took over her body. From a distance, she heard Hiccup say, “Did you get a name out of her? All I got was ‘Buh’.”

“Bethany,” came Sherlock’s calm voice. “Make sure she calls you Sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany is dealing with emotional tumult, Hiccup is a decent person and Sherlock lays down a few ground rules.

She awoke, cold, to a sky full of a million stars. The sails had been let down and the ship appeared to be drifting, or maybe it was anchored in some way. Someone had given her a fur to cover herself with, but it had slipped onto the deck during the night. She leaned down to pick it back up and as she pulled it towards her, her wrist brushed the metal chain that tethered her to the deck of the boat and pain shot through her arm. The two stark reminders of her situation – her state of captivity, and a permanent sign of irrevocable ownership should she ever manage to escape – hit home hard and she cried, for the first time in days.

\--oOo-- 

The next time she woke it was light, and it was the sound of something being put down in front of her that stirred her. “Breakfast,” said a cheeful voice.

She sat up and found a wooden plate with bread and dried fish on the deck alongside a leather mug with water. Hiccup was leaning against the railings with his own breakfast, watching her. “Well, go on, eat it. Toothless will have it if you don’t.” He gestured across the deck, where the dragon was looking on with great interest. She took the plate quickly and ate, her eyes never leaving the dragon.

\--oOo-- 

After the scarce meal Sherlock appeared. As he walked up, he gave Hiccup a sharp look. “Eating with the staff? Not your finest moment, boy.”

Hiccup protested. “Does it matter? I mean, she looks lost. I reckoned she could do with some company.”

Sherlock sighed and looked at Bethany. “Lost? She’s lost alright. Couldn’t be more lost. Rudely plucked from her safe life, thrown into the great unknown.” He waved his hands about in a mock gesture. “All very dramatic.” He considered her a moment. “What she needs is purpose. Get her working.”

Hiccup was quiet for a while, then appeared to resolve himself. “Well, he’s probably right. You might as well make something of it.” He walked off and returned with a pail and a mop, putting them down in front of her. “There you go. Let me know when you’ve done the deck.”

Bethany sat for a long time, staring at these symbols of her new life, unable to bring herself to take that first step. Hiccup had walked off and Sherlock had the tiller, and neither of them appeared to be taking any notice of her. She wondered how long it would be before either of them would wake up to the fact she was disobeying them, and what the consequences might be. In the end that thought was what got her going; Sherlock’s reputation preceded him and she dreaded the thought of what he might do should she cross him.

\--oOo—

The simple act of cleaning, the repetition of filling and emptying the pail on its tough rope, the movement of mopping – she was surprised to find it brought solace, to a point, and allowed her a small bit of easy focus in a messed up world. The job was made more difficult by the chain on her neck, and she took great care to avoid eye contact with the dragon lying in the centre of the boat, watching her with interest. As she got closer to him, and the chain began to pull, she ended up with a dilemma. The dragon would have to move, and she herself could move no further. She looked around for help but Hiccup had gone below decks and Sherlock was looking across the sea, hand on tiller, his eyes shielded from the sun by a tricorn hat, white lace still impeccably clean. He looked exotic, she thought, like nobody else she had ever come across in her small village, or the occasional markets that her dad had taken her to. Exotic, and dangerous. She swallowed.

“Sherlock... Sir?”

To her surprise he heard her above the noise of the wind. She could have sworn she had spoken barely louder than a whisper. Sherlock fastened the tiller to its course and walked over, casting his eyes over the deck where she had already finished. Then he focused on her with a look of surprised amusement. “She speaks.”

His casual mockery threw her. She’d intended to be coherent, to force out a sentence at least, to show she was not beaten. Instead, she ended up pulling her chain and gesturing to the dragon. “I’m stuck.”

He regarded her, head cocked sideways. “You’re stuck... What?”

It took her a moment. “I’m stuck, Sir,” she whispered, by now quite unable to meet his eye. She wondered again how many of the stories were true.

“Better,” he said, and proceeded to unlock the chain, leaving the collar in place. The he called out. “Hiccup!”

Hiccup’s head appeared from the hatch.

“Your dragon is inconveniencing the girl. Please get him to move.”

“Oh. No worries, I’ll take him out for a bit.”

Bethany watched in awe as the boy ran up to the dragon, the animal returning his obvious affections with headbutts and excited rumbles. “Hey, bud. Wanna go for a spin?” The dragon was almost bouncing up and down with excitement now, and Hiccup caught Bethany’s eye. “Come here a moment.”

She wasn’t sure. All her life she had been led to believe that dragons were callous, murderous beasts. The panic that came over her village every time a dragon was sighted was etched in her memory, and now he wanted her to come and say hello to one. Watching the pair with big eyes she quietly shook her head and stayed where she was.

Hiccup looked at her with exasperation. “Really? Honestly, if he wanted to eat you he’d have done it by now.” He came over and took her hand. “Come on.”

He walked her right up to the dragon, which regarded her curiously. “Toothless, this is Bethany. You’re not to eat her.”

The dragon blinked at him with what she could only describe as mock hurt, then turned back to Bethany. It sniffed her, then gave her a little nudge with its nose. She tottered backward, but Hiccup pulled her forwards again, smiling, and put her hand on the dragon’s head. “He likes you.”

She stood, entranced, feeling the dragon’s leathery skin beneath her hand, looking at its animated green eyes, not sure what to say. “He’s... beautiful,” she settled on eventually. Checking herself, she added, “Sir.”

Hiccup shot her a quick look but said nothing. The dragon closed his eyes and turned his head, allowing her to stroke his chin, rumbling contentedly. He looked blissful. Hiccup laughed. “You’ve made a friend there.”

She looked at him, wide eyed with the wonder of it. Hiccup grinned, and then with one easy leap jumped onto Toothless. “Better get back to work,” he said, and to the dragon, “Come on, bud. Let’s make some moves.” The dragon roared, and with the grace of a cat pounced off the side of the boat, great wings unfurling just before it hit the surface of the water, swooping gracefully upwards as Hiccup whooped in exhilaration. They spun higher and higher, and then with a great dive picked up speed again and disappeared out of sight, skimming the ocean surface.

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

Bethany jumped. She’d been so focused on the dragon’s aerobatics that she hadn’t noticed Sherlock, who had appeared behind her. Suppressing a squeal she almost ran back to her bucket and mop and he watched her a moment as she frantically tried to regain her composure. “Don’t underestimate either of them,” he said, a definite edge to his voice. “He may be kind, but he’s not a fool. As for the dragon, you wouldn’t last a moment if it thought you were out to hurt him.” He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned on his heel and returned to his post.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....aaaand we have company. And not of a friendly kind.

Hiccup was gone for hours. Bethany finished with the deck and put the pail and mop in the sun to dry, and Sherlock fixed the tiller and came over. “Do you sew?”

She nodded, and he disappeared below decks and returned with a well-used sewing pouch and a small roll of sailcloth cut into strips. Then he pointed at the pile of sail Toothless had been sleeping on, and said, “That got ripped in the last storms. Fix it.”

The sail was large and heavy and it took her a while to manhandle it so that she had access to the parts that were ripped. She set about cutting the sailcloth strips to size and pinning them, taking pride in doing a neat job on this, and making the seams strong. Her mum had always said she was made out to be a seamstress, and although it seemed a bit dull to her she undoubtedly had considerable skill. Sherlock came over and watched her work for a while. He picked up the sail to study one of the finished repairs, and said after a moment's consideration, “Very good.”

It was given as a fact, and she knew she shouldn’t feel the great sense of pride that welled up in her. But after his mockery and barely veiled threats this simple acknowledgement that she could do something well was like a beacon of hope to her.

He watched her a while longer, then out of nowhere said, “They didn’t touch you.” She looked at him, not comprehending. “The slave traders,” he pressed. She wondered how he could tell. “No, Sir. They took... some of the other girls.” It wasn’t something she was comfortable thinking back on.

He stood up and walked around her, still studying her. She felt vulnerable, and wished Hiccup would return. “But you’ve been with a man.” Again, it was a statement of fact, and put bluntly. She wondered where this was going and how he knew, but saw no point in denying it. Staring fixedly at her repairs, she said, “One of my dad’s friends got drunk one night. He dragged me off to his barn and did things to me. I didn’t consent, Sir.” She looked up at him, not sure what she was hoping to find, but he was impossible to read as he said, “Hm. Rape doesn’t count.”

 _What does that mean_ , she thought, _count for what?_ He didn’t elaborate, but instead knelt down and checked the tattoo on her wrist. It looked red and angry, and he carefully reapplied the grease from the jar in his pocket. “Keep that dry.”

\--oOo-- 

Toothless came plummeting vertically from the sky in a rush of wings, pulled up sharply and landed on the deck with a thud. Sherlock looked at Hiccup sharply. “Trouble?”

“We’ve got company, Sherlock. Three ships, heading directly for us. We kept above the clouds but it looks like they know where we are. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Sherlock thought a moment. “What of their flags?”

Hiccup looked serious. “Pirates. They are flying the black dragon.”

In an instant the ship was all action. Sherlock jumped up and bounded below decks, returning without his coat but with a selection of weaponry that he proceeded to distribute across the two weapon belts he was now wearing. Hiccup was checking his armour and the saddle straps on Toothless. Bethany, on the other hand, was unsure what to do. Weapons in place, Sherlock came up to her, frowning. “What are you waiting for. Hide.”

She looked at him without understanding, and he scowled back at her. “This is not a game, girl. If they see you, they will hunt you. Everything you fear...” he stopped, looking at her intensely, then continued slowly and quietly, “Everything you fear _I_ might do to you, they will do, and worse. Without mercy. And when they are done, if you are lucky, they will throw you to the sharks. Now hide.”

She ran. Down the steep ladder below decks where it was almost pitch dark she stumbled, slamming her head into a board or a plank on the side as she tried to move too fast. She had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. On deck everything was quiet, so she calmed herself down as much as she could. There was still time.

Once she was able to see vague shapes she tried to get her bearings. There were two sets of bunk beds to either side of her, presumably for crew. On the ground beyond, towards the prow of the ship were a few small chests and a water barrel, but she could see nothing that would provide her with a hiding place. At the back of the ship was a small door that she made her way towards. She tried the handle – it wasn’t locked.

Opening the door she found light streaming towards her, and she stepped inside of what could only be the captain’s cabin and blinked. A set of small windows was placed just above the waterline and through it the sun streamed in. Not sure she had permission to be here, she closed the door behind her and looked around tentatively.

The room was sparsely furnished with an ancient desk and chair, an elaborately decorated sea chest, and a set of oil lamps to either side of the windows. To her left was a cabin bed with two small doors underneath. On the other side were shelves overflowing with books and documents, arranged in an untidy fashion. One of the shelves appeared to be filled entirely with rolled up maps. A stone flagon stood on the desk, and next to it was a silver cup, ornately decorated, a small pile of single sheets of paper that had a knife thrust to them into the wood of the desk, and a skull. She shuddered and tried not to look at it.

There was a dull thud on the side of the ship, and shouting above her. _They’re here,_ she thought, and dived for the only hiding place she could think of: the doors under the cabin bed. Behind the small doors was a disorderly array of items; glass bottles, small leather bags, metal and wooden artefacts, most of which she could not identify. She assumed these must be treasure she had no idea of, or useful in some way, or maybe ornamental. In any case she had no time to contemplate them as the awful noises above her grew more violent. Every so often the windows of the cabin would suddenly darken as Toothless sped past, and she could hear many different voices shouting above the clash of metal. Shaking, she squeezed her way past the items at the front and turned around carefully to shut the doors as best as she could. Then she made her way as far to the back of the small space as possible, folded herself into the darkest corner, and waited.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany does a decent job, and Sherlock does a little research.

Time passed more slowly than she had ever experienced it. She felt every heartbeat as the battle above her head continued, and worse so when silence finally descended over the ship. For what felt like endless hours all she could hear was the quiet creaking of the woodwork, the slow slap of the rigging against the mast, and she wondered if everyone was dead. Still, she stayed where she was, fearful of the result of the battle. With only two men – one barely of age, it seemed – against three ships she could only assume the outcome, and she dreaded it.

Finally she heard the door of the cabin open and she pressed herself even further into the back of the cabinet. It was quiet for a moment as she listened to her heartbeat pound, and then the doors under the bed were opened from the outside, and to her immense relief she saw Sherlock’s face peering in, sweaty and, in places, bloody. “Out you come.”

She scrambled out of the dark space, all the while fighting her emotions. _Why relieved – he’s one of the most notorious pirates on the archipelago, and he owns you. You shouldn’t be relieved. You should be terrified._ Knocking several of the small items out of the cupboard, she finally crawled onto the floor and stood up, facing him, noticing that most of the blood on his face appeared not to be his. “You're alive, Sir,” she said, stupidly, for wont of anything better to say, and he looked at her with a barely suppressed grin. “And you’re relieved. How quickly we adapt.”

Bethany blushed, and started to make for the exit in her embarrassment.

“Wait.”

She stopped in her tracks.

“I have not given you permission to leave.” As he was speaking, Sherlock pulled his shirt over his head. She suddenly felt trapped, panicking about what might be next, and wondered what her chances of escape were if she just ran out the door. But instead of making for her, Sherlock turned the back of his left arm towards her. It was cut open along most of its length in a deep gash, and bleeding heavily. “Think you can sew me up?”

She gasped, her hands covering her mouth involuntarily. There was a lot of blood, and she could see the muscle and sinew underneath. He was lucky to still be able to move the arm.  He was also waiting for an answer, and she said, trembling, “I... I can try, Sir.”

“Good.” He moved away, kneeling at the cupboard under the bed and started to rummage around in the contents. She glanced at his bare back and saw that it was a network of scars, big and small. It was hard to take in how many fights he must have been in. There were a couple of brands, _Pirate_ , and she shuddered to think the agony they must have caused at the time. As she studied him Sherlock found what he was looking for and stood up again, catching her staring. With a frown he said, “What.”

She was caught off guard, and just blurted. “Scars. So many scars, Sir.”

He gave a mirthless laugh, saying, “Part of the job description.” Then he handed her the items he had dug up from the cabinet - Small medical bag, oil lamp, disgusting looking green ointment. He also handed her a wet rag, then sat down on the chair and poured himself a large drink from the flagon. “All yours.”

Her hands were shaking as she lit the little oil lamp and started to gingerly wipe the blood from his arm, scared to get near him, scared of what he had just done, wondering how many people he killed, terrified of what he might do to her. She wasn’t making much progress with the wound as the blood kept coming, and her careful ministrations were not enough to stem it. Eventually Sherlock sighed and took her arm with his good hand, pulling her in front of him. “Bethany.”

She looked at him, terrified. “Yes, Sir?”

“I asked you to do a job. I am not sure what you think I’m going to do to you, but, by Loki, I am not going to harm the person who is about to stop me bleeding all over the deck. Pull yourself together, girl. I’m not going to bite you.”

She swallowed and nodded, trying to calm herself. _Fix him up,_ she said to herself, _not going to bite you_. She repeated it like a mantra in her head, until she almost believed it. Then she took a deep breath and when her hands stopped shaking so much she returned to his wound. The blood had started to congeal in places, and it was easier now to clean it up and to stem the flow where it was still oozing from the cut. She proceeded to heat the thick needle under his direction, and threaded it with the strange white thread Sherlock pointed out to her in the medical bag. “Catgut,” he said to her doubtful face. “It dissolves over time.”

She wasn’t sure. From what she’d seen, wounds were stitched with thin hemp, but she wasn’t going to question it. _Fix him up_.

Following his instructions she poured the green ointment over the wound. It stank, an acrid, heady, botanical smell, but she couldn’t recognise the herbs. Then she picked up the needle, and hesitated. This was going to hurt him a lot. He caught her eye, and said calmly, “There’s much worse.”

It struck her that it wasn’t an empty statement to him. This was just part of everyday life, and this horrific injury merely another scar in the making. She nodded, clenched her teeth and started her work, trying to pretend that it was a particularly difficult fabric she was sewing, not human flesh.  Sherlock just sat in silence and let her do her job, showing no outward signs of discomfort, drinking wine.

\--oOo--  

She’d got absorbed in the work, slowly making her way down his arm with regular, neat stitches, trying to pull the edges closed as much as possible. It was going to scar, she was sure of that, but she hoped it would be a thin one. Kneeling so she had better access, she took care of finishing the suture neatly, knotting the thread tightly at the bottom of the cut, snipping off the ends with the small shears. Then she looked up. “Done, Sir.”

She found Sherlock watching her calmly, as he said, “Thank you.” Then he lifted his arm and studied the suture as best he could, looking impressed. “Well done.”

She almost burst with pride, but couldn’t get a word out, conflicting emotions battling it out in her head. Instead, she nodded and looked back to the floor, cursing herself for being weak. _He will use you, and then he will kill_ you, she thought. _Don’t get charmed. Get out._

As she was struggling to compose herself Sherlock took her left arm and she looked up. He was studying the tattoo on her wrist, turning it into the light to get a better look, and seemed satisfied with it. Then he caught her eye as he gently pushed up the sleeve of her dress and softly ran his long fingers down the inside of her arm, watching her reaction closely. She gasped as a hundred fireworks went off on her skin, the gentle touch unexpected and spectacular, catching her totally off guard. He grinned, and as he let go of her whispered, all the while holding her eye, “Oh Bethany. _Run_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup gets himself in trouble, and poor Bethany is at the receiving end of it.

She fled. Through the small cabin door, past the bunks, up the wooden ladder, onto the deck, back to her pile of sacks. She passed Hiccup and narrowly avoided crashing into him. “Whoa, watch out!”

She threw herself onto the bags and sat, knees drawn up, back against the boat’s railings, catching her breath, her thoughts reeling. Hiccup came up to her. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He took a step back, looking worried. “Is it Sherlock? Did he do something to you? Do I need to talk to him?”

She shook her head, staring fixedly at the deck, only partly noticing the bloodstains. She felt Hiccup sit down next to her. “Bethany, what happened?”

She looked at him. He was all wide-eyed concern, ready to help her out, only there wasn’t a thing in the world he could do for her. She shook her head again and looked back at the ground, but he insisted. “Tell me. Seriously.”

She bit her lip and kept quiet, wishing he would go away. Instead she felt his hand on her cheek, gently turning her face towards him. He looked quite serious as he studied her face and said, “Bethany, please tell me what happened. If you don’t tell me I’ll have to ask Sherlock.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes. “He touched me.” She heard Hiccup’s sharp intake of breath and looked back at him, then added in a small voice, “It felt nice.”

Hiccup was quiet for a very long time, staring at her with a glazed expression. Then he said, “ _Oh._ ”

She turned her face away and tried to control herself, but there was no stopping the tears that welled in her eyes and began to run down her face, landing on the sacks with little sounds, _tick, tick._ If she’d felt lost in the days before, it was nothing compared to the void she found herself in now, where nothing she had ever known made any sense anymore and her moral compass appeared to have folded in on itself. She sobbed, and was only grateful when Hiccup put his arm around her and pulled her close to him, wrapping her against his armour in a strong embrace that shielded her from the madness, if only for a moment. She cried until there was nothing left, and he held her without question.

\--oOo-- 

“Bethany.”

She felt his arms slowly peel off her, and looked up, forcing herself back to reality. “We need to clean up this mess.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Yes Sir.”

Hiccup sighed. “Listen, about the Sir thing? It’s a bit much. Honestly, it’s not necessary. Just drop it.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

When she looked around her, to see what mess he was referring to, she was shocked. It was quite unbelievable that she hadn’t noticed this, regardless of what level of upset she had been in. There was blood all over the deck. The jib had a large rip in it, by the look of it from somebody swinging off it with a sword. She looked to the back of the boat, almost afraid of what she might see and found that there appeared to be a body behind the mast, but the limbs were at odd angles. Further out to sea she could see two smoking wrecks, masts snapped, barely afloat. There was no sign of a third ship, or any survivors for that matter. She looked back at Hiccup.

“Did... did everybody die?”

“Not everybody. _We’re_ still alive,” he quipped. She looked at him with horror, and he smiled at her. “Seriously, Bethany. Quite a lot of them got away in the third sloop. _That_ idiot,” he inclined his head towards the body at the mast, “challenged Sherlock on his own ship. That’s just plain stupid.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the body. “That’s awful.”

“Ehm, they didn’t have to attack us, you know,” Hiccup pointed out. “That was their choice. We just fought back.”

She nodded, still staring in morbid fascination. Hiccup looked at her. “....Okay. Time to shift the body. Toothless!”

Toothless came padding up to him, stretching and yawning. Clearly the battle had taken it out of him, as he looked sleepy and a little bit disgruntled as Hiccup said, “Hi there, bud. Get rid of that body, would you?”

The dragon grumbled a bit but complied, padding over to the corpse and dragging it into the open by a boot. Then he lifted the man up in his mouth and unceremoniously tossed him over the railings. There was a brief silence, then a resounding splash. “There,” said Hiccup, “Done. Looks like you’re mopping again.”

\--oOo—

By the time the ship was back in order it was getting dark. Sherlock had taken down the jib and given it to Bethany for repairs. There wasn’t a spare on board, so for the time being the ship sailed on its main sail, making it temperamental to steer and occupying most of Sherlock’s attention. He made use of the opportunity to teach Hiccup, and Bethany was about to sit down to her sewing before it got completely dark when Sherlock called her over. She nervously made her way. “Get us some dinner, girl.”

She felt a bit lost, having no idea where food might be kept on the ship. “Front of the hold, there’s a few chests. There’s beer in the barrel.” He wasn’t even looking at her, more interested in the way the ship was moving. She took it as a small comfort not to be the focus of his attention, and left with a quiet, “Yes, Sir.”

On such a small ship it was easy to find the supplies. There were a couple of leather bags with dried meat, a small barrel of dried fish, a couple of stale loaves of bread and a stack of ship’s biscuits. Wrapped in a piece of waxed paper was some hard cheese. There were a few wrinkled apples from the last harvest hidden in a small crate at the back. She also found a small chest containing wooden plates and bowls and leather mugs and put together two plates with what she considered a reasonable meal. There didn’t appear to be any cutlery other than a bread knife and for a very brief moment she considered taking it and hiding it as a weapon, but then she remembered the broken body of the defeated pirate and decided to stay well clear of that idea. Instead, she took the meals up the ladder.

Hiccup was at the tiller when she returned, and Sherlock acknowledged the food with a nod. “Get yourself some. You’re no use to us starved.” Then he suddenly looked at her sharply. “Did you take the knife?”

She shook her head, thankful to herself that she hadn’t, and said, “No, Sir.” He was studying her still, and she wondered if he didn't believe her as he said, “Did  you consider it?” She was shuffling her feet now, realising that by that action alone she was admitting guilt. She looked back at him awkwardly and said, “Yes, Sir. Briefly.” He nodded. “Hm.”

\--oOo-- 

It had gone almost completely dark after she had eaten, and she was in two minds about starting the repair on the jib sail. She could feasibly do it by the light of an oil lamp, so she went up to the back of the ship to ask Sherlock for one.

“No, leave it for tonight,” Sherlock said before she had asked the question, barely even looking at her. “You’ll do a better job in daylight. You’re done for the day.” He passed her his empty plate and mug. “Just tidy up, and get us more ale. There’s a spare flagon somewhere.”

When she had finished she sank onto her stack of bags exhausted, her back to the railings again, staring aimlessly ahead and trying not to think too hard about the events of the day. From the corner of her eye she saw Sherlock get up, and her gaze followed him as he went about the job of letting down the main sail and tying it to the boom. Given that he had a considerable injury he still moved with the grace of a cat. _Or a fencer,_ she thought. _Or a pirate._

Hiccup walked past her with a strange metal and cloth contraption and a long rope. She wasn’t sure what it was, but he showed it to her as he fastened it to the front of the ship. “It’s a sea anchor, look. When it hits the water it unfolds, like this, and it stops the boat drifting. I designed it myself, it’s a lot better than the traditional ones.” She smiled at his enthusiasm. He was clearly good at this kind of thing, and it was nice of him to show it to her. “It’s clever,” she said, and he seemed to like that.

When he had finished with the sail Sherlock came over, too. He gave Hiccup, who had sat down next to Bethany, an icy look. Taking the dragon-proof chain from the railing where he had hung it in loose loops, he locked it back onto Bethany’s collar. Then he turned to Hiccup and said flatly, “A word in your ear.”

Hiccup got up, and Sherlock immediately turned and started to walk back to the rear of the ship. Hiccup shrugged at Bethany, saying with some amusement, “Well, he’s got a bee in his bonnet. Or should I say tricorn hat,” and it made her smile despite her predicament.

\--oOo-- 

She could easily hear the argument from where she was sitting. They hadn’t moved far away, and neither of the men were being very subtle about it.

“I told you, Sherlock. We don’t _have_ slaves on Berk. It’s considered barbaric. If this was Berk she’d be free.”

“It’s not Berk. And frankly, I don’t care.” Sherlock gestured at Hiccup. “Guess just how many people send their daughters to me in response to my ‘Dread Pirate Sherlock Looking for Domestic Help’ notices.” He was scathing. “ _I have no choice._ I feed them, I clothe them, I look after them, I teach them what they need to know. But they are slaves and that is their lot. They’re not _friends_ , Hiccup, and you’d be wise to remember it.”

In the background Toothless was grumbling, keeping a very close eye on the exchange.

“That doesn’t mean I have to treat her like _dirt_ , Sherlock. There’s no harm in talking with her, or eating with her, or dropping the silly ‘Sir’ business. She’s not going to respect me any less for it.”

Sherlock scowled. “Believe me, she will. She will believe you are on equal footing. You’re not, and she needs to know that. This discussion is over.”

Hiccup stood his ground. “You can’t make me.”

Bethany could just make out Sherlock’s words, his voice suddenly quiet and cold as ice. “This is _my_ ship, _my_ rules, and whether you like it or not, boy, she’s _mine_. And you will listen, and follow my orders. Anything else I will consider mutiny.”

Hiccup could do nothing else but back off. There had only ever been one mutiny against Sherlock’s command that he knew of, and it hadn’t ended well for the mutineers. While the story might have been embellished over time, the fact that Sherlock was standing right in front of him proved that at the core it was true. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”

Sherlock gave a derisive snort. “Objection registered. It won’t change a thing.” He stared Hiccup down until the younger man shrugged and, shaking his head, walked to the stern to sit by the tiller. Sherlock stomped over to Bethany, towering over her.

“I’m only going to say this once. Whether he asks you to or not, you will observe proper protocol around the boy. And if you don’t, you will answer to me, not him.” He was fuming, barely controlling his anger. She nodded, wide eyed, frightened of his rage, and Sherlock checked himself and took a step back, still glowering. “Do you have any words, girl?”

She just about managed, “Yes Sir,” her throat closed tight with fear.

“Good.” He stormed off, dark as thunder.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my friend SoBeautifullyObsessed, with music.

She had no idea when she had finally dropped off to sleep, but she must have done at some point in the evening. Hiccup had gone to his bunk early while Sherlock sat in the stern, smoking a long clay pipe. Toothless was lying curled up on the newly mended spare mainsail, fast asleep. Bethany had sat on her sacks with her fur wrapped around her, watching Sherlock and the dragon in turn and wishing she could think of a way out of here, and she thought she would never sleep again.

To her surprise, however, she found herself suddenly awake in the middle of the night after a deep sleep, listening to a strange melody. Somebody had made sure she was comfortable, as she was laid out on the sacks with a rolled blanket under her head and the fur tucked around her. She propped herself up, wondering where the sound was coming from.

Sherlock was still sitting by the tiller, but he was no longer smoking. He was holding an instrument she didn’t recognise in the dark, playing an eerie but beautiful melody that filled the night air. It was difficult to believe that someone so harsh could produce such a sound of absolute beauty, and she sat and listened, rapt. When he caught her eye and realised she was awake he changed the melody, weaving in a new theme, returning to the one he had been playing before, blending them together. Drifting away again on the fragile strands of the beautiful sound she convinced herself that the tears streaming down her face were sea spray.

\--oOo-- 

The morning came grey and windy, and once the main sail was raised they made quick progress. While Bethany was mending the jib Sherlock had reefed the sail, as the ship proved hard to handle in the strong wind. She worked as quickly as she could and soon the ship was fully rigged again and they were speeding across the choppy waves, and despite her predicament Bethany found it exhilarating. At home her dad owned a small fishing boat that was not built for speed, or in fact for going to sea in any kind of rough weather. The Storm Petrel, on the other hand, was built for it. During the slack weather of the last two days she hadn’t quite appreciated that its light, sleek build made it fast and eminently manoeuvrable in the wind, and for a little while she just stood at the prow and enjoyed the ride, the wind whipping her hair back and salt spray on her face. She was cold, but she didn’t care.

She nearly jumped when she felt someone touching her shoulders, and looked up to find Sherlock wrapping a short woollen cloak around her, a glint in his eye. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, unable to hide her enjoyment of the moment. He nodded, more in acknowledgment of her mood than her words, and said, “She’s quick.”

She breathed her agreement, “Yes. She’s beautiful, Sir.” She was bursting with questions about this ship, which had quite a reputation of its own, but she didn’t have the courage. Instead, she looked towards the stern. Hiccup was at the tiller, grinning like a madman and she smiled involuntarily.

“Master Sherlock, can I...” She hesitated as he looked at her. “May I speak to Master Hiccup, please?” She’d been avoiding Hiccup all morning, and he had equally avoided her, both all too conscious of the potential for a repeat of last night’s argument. Sherlock thought a moment, and conceded. “Very well.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

She made her way along the railing, careful not to skid on the deck which was veering at a frightening angle as Hiccup watched her progress with interest. “Bethany. Sit down before you get blown over,” he yelled when she got within earshot. She continued along her way and sat down on the opposite side of the tiller. “Master Hiccup.”

He scowled, rolling his eyes. “Like that, is it.”

She looked at him unhappily. “I don’t really have a choice, Sir.”

She could hear his sigh above the noise of the wind. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Bethany. This whole thing is a mess. It was a bad idea from the start.”

She thought about it for a while. “I would have been sold either way, Sir. Probably to that fat Viking that was eyeing me up before you arrived.”

Despite himself Hiccup laughed, thinking that maybe she had a point, maybe they’d rescued her from a worse fate. “Fine," he said, "I’ll play the game. You may call me Sir.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She actually meant it. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, until Hiccup said, “You’d better go. I’m sure Sherlock has work for you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home, sweet home...

The end of the journey arrived suddenly, with a “Land Ho!” from Sherlock as a small island became visible in the distance. At first sight it was all jagged peaks and rocky outcrops, and it looked completely uninhabitable. When they got closer Sherlock took over the tiller from Hiccup and steered the ship skilfully into a small cove at the back of the island, where it was sheltered and well hidden from view. At the small moorings there were two other, much smaller sloops, and a rowing boat. Behind the harbour here was a small beach and a scraggly forest running up the steep slope.

The men unloaded the small amount of luggage they had, and Sherlock collected Bethany, undoing the chain from the deck ring and sliding it into his pocket. He accompanied her down the gang plank onto the beach, and said, “Welcome home.”

Bethany wondered where home was. She’d never been more than half a day’s journey from her own island, and as far as she was concerned they might be on the other side of the world. Suddenly a huge wave of homesickness washed over her and she fought back tears. Sherlock, behind her, gave her a little push. “Come on.”

Hiccup had bounded ahead on Toothless, and Bethany had lost sight of them as she slowly made her way up the steep little path that was cut from the side of the beach into the forest. In some places it was tall stairs, with weathered looking rope railings to give a semblance of support. Fearing they might break at any moment, she slowed down even more. Behind her, Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, for Thor's sake.”

Before she knew what was happening he was beside her, lifting her up with one arm and throwing her over his shoulder. She froze in terror as she suddenly found herself facing back down the hill with nothing to hold onto, the ground seemingly miles away, the slippery stairs staring her in the face. She closed her eyes and prayed to Freya as Sherlock started moving up the hill again, taking the steps in long, easy strides, apparently finding her no burden.

When he finally stood still again she was simply too scared to look. He set her down unceremoniously and walked off, and she stood a moment before carefully opening her eyes and looking around her, relieved to find she was surrounded by solid ground on all sides. She was standing in a small, unpaved courtyard, surrounded on three sides by tall rocks and forest. On the fourth side was a wooden house, built against the rock face in the traditional Viking style with logs and wooden roof tiles, but much bigger than the small cottages that were commonplace in her village. It had a double door as its front entrance that was painted in red and white stripes, but otherwise it was undecorated. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected skulls.

Against the rocks on the far side were a few low wooden buildings that looked like workshops or stables, and the only way out of the compound was the little path that they had come up on. While she was wondering what to do next, Hiccup appeared from one of the outbuildings, carrying two buckets.

“Bethany. Get us some water, will you.”

He gave her the buckets and waved towards where the well was. _This high up, how could there be a well_ , she thought, but Hiccup had gone back into the workshop before she could ask, and so she walked in the direction that he had pointed and found a large reservoir hewn deep down into the mountain. It was fed with rainwater through a complicated network of wooden chutes and pipes, climbing all the way up the steep summit of the rock face and disappearing to all sides. She looked at the reservoir, quickly realising that there was enough there to provide water to a village for a whole summer. Quietly impressed, she filled the buckets and returned to the workshop where Hiccup had disappeared. “Did you build that, Sir?”

Hiccup, who had been busy with Toothless’ saddle, looked up. “What, the well? No, I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Sherlock designed that as far as I know. I don’t think he built it though. I suspect he might have had some manual labour in.”

Now she knew what had been nagging her. There was nobody else here. For all of Sherlock’s talk about using slaves all the time, there were none living at his home. She quietly wondered what had happened to them.

“Girl!” Sherlock’s booming voice rang through the courtyard. She excused herself from Hiccup and quickly went back outside, taking the second bucket of water at his suggestion. “He’ll be after some, for sure.” Seeing that she had come prepared, Sherlock turned round without further comment. “Come with me.”

\--oOo--

She followed him through the double doors, into the house, to the kitchen. It was large, with an open fire for cooking and a large trestle table for her to work at, and he got her to leave the water there and then gave her a tour of the house. There was a series of windows at the front and the rooms on that side of the house were bright, like the main room which was much like a study and reminded her of the captain’s cabin. One wall was entirely taken up with bookshelves, and there were some ancient display cabinets along a second wall, filled with all manner of wondrous things, mostly dead.

For the moment she could not take her eyes off the shelves, as she had never seen so many books in her life. There were only two people in her village that were able to read, and the chief did so reluctantly. His scribe had a small collection of books which he proudly displayed in his small cabin, but it was nothing compared to the veritable library that was laid out here. “Do you read, girl?”

She shook her head, still looking at the books, awestruck, and answered, “No Sir, I don’t.”

He simply acknowledged it, as it was not unusual. She looked back at him. “Have you read all of them, Sir?”

He was amused by her awe. “Yes. _Twice_ sometimes.”

She didn’t catch his slight mockery, but looked genuinely amazed. He thought a moment. “Hold on.”

To her utter amazement he went to a far corner of the wall of books, bent down and plucked out a small volume. He handed it to her. “Take it, and look through it. I’ll have it back when you’re finished with it.”

It was a colourful book, full of pictures, each picture having a small set of runes at the bottom. The images were simple but beautifully painted and she carefully turned the pages, delighted. She’d never been allowed to touch any of the books in the village. She looked back at Sherlock, unable to hide her amazement. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

He smiled. “It’s a book of words. Look after it.”

She clasped the book to her chest like it was some kind of treasure while he showed her the rest of the house. The dining room with its well stocked drinks cabinet was at the front as well, but the house itself went back into the rock face further than she had anticipated, and here it was darker, lit sparsely with candles and oil lamps. He pointed out the rooms: Master bedroom, four guest bedrooms. At the back there were three further doors, the one in the centre much heavier than the others and reinforced with black ironwork. If there was anything behind it it would be leading straight into the mountain, but he ignored this one and pointed to the smaller door on the left. “My apothecary is out of bounds at all times. If I find you in there you will lose body parts.” He seemed quite serious and she took him at face value, nodding at him with big eyes as they finally they came to the room on the right.

He opened the door to a small bedroom, sparsely furnished with a bed, a small built-in wardrobe and a chair. There was a small, cracked mirror on the wall, and as they entered Sherlock lit the only lamp in the corner.

“Normally the slaves sleep in the outbuildings. However, since it’s just you, you may stay here. Keep it clean.” He pointed to a large travel case at the back of the room. “There’s a store full of clothes there. Take what fits and bring me the rest back in that. When you are done in here come and find me in the study.”

He left her, giving her a chance to let it all sink in. She put the book reverently on the chair and opened the trunk, which was full of practical female clothes, in various sizes. She hesitated for a while, wondering once again what had happened to their owners, feeling uncomfortable about going through them. Then she shook herself. The dress she was wearing was filthy and ripped, and it was the only item of clothing she owned. She was in no position to be picky.

She split the clothes simply into _fits_ and _doesn’t fit_ piles, and picked out a skirt and blouse that looked comfortable and clean. With care she put the rest of the clothes that fitted on the shelves in the small wardrobe and returned the ones that were too large or too small to the trunk. Then she got changed, tried to sort out her hair and sat down on the bed, reluctant to take the next step. The book on the chair beckoned her, with its bright happy pictures and intriguing runes, but she sighed, knowing that she was expected in the study soon. It would have to wait.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sherlock misbehaves, and Bethany makes a decision.

Sherlock was sitting in the study in a comfortable looking chair, reading a small tome. Hiccup had joined him, sitting cross-legged on a bench in the other corner, whittling a piece of wood. She had dragged the trunk down the hallway and now lifted it into the room as carefully as she could. “I’m finished, Sir.”

Sherlock looked up from his book as she entered the room, and she was once more struck by the clarity of his gaze as he watched her. He looked different here, she thought, softer somehow, certainly more relaxed. “Good. Come here.”

She walked over and stood in front of him and he observed her a moment, noting she had made an effort. “Right. House rules. I don’t like complicating my life, so I’ll keep these simple. Listen carefully, I find it tedious to repeat.”

She listened. The rooms she was allowed to go freely were the kitchen and her bedroom, and she could only enter the other rooms with permission, and for the daily clean. She was not to go outside the compound unless explicitly instructed to do so. The outbuildings were equally off limits, but she was welcome to spend any spare time outside with the few animals that Sherlock kept. She was to feed the animals, but not Toothless, who she could only visit with Hiccup. She was to clean, make the beds, and provide three meals a day without prompting. When he finished he made her repeat his instructions back to him.

“Good. I should not have to add that any attempts to escape will be severely punished. Other than that, carry out any other duties as instructed, and you will be looked after.”

She blinked. “Domestic duties, Sir?”

He smiled, a slightly feral smile. “Any and all duties. As I see fit.”

She swallowed. “Oh. Yes, Sir.”

He stood up then, walking right up to her, watching her very closely. “Look at you," he said with some disdain, "You seem happy to accept any amount of dull, tedious housework, to live a life of scrubbing and cooking until the end of your days here. And yet you appear terrified of anything I might request of you,” he lifted his hand and touched her face, slowly running his fingers down her throat and onto her chest as he lowered his voice, “that might make you feel _good_.”

Bethany tried not to gasp for breath. She was trembling, his fingertips resting just below her collarbone causing impossible sensations in her body. She’d closed her eyes involuntarily as he touched her, but she opened them again when he lifted his hand away, looking at him in total confusion. He smiled, cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Now go and cook.”

He stepped backwards, leaving her standing in the middle of the room in a daze. After a few moments she came back to herself, suddenly registering her situation. She looked at Sherlock, who was standing a stride away, regarding her with amusement. Then she turned to Hiccup, who sat on his bench looking stunned, his knife hand stopped mid-whittle. She gave him a desperate, pleading look before turning and almost running out of the room, followed down the hallway by Sherlock’s quiet chuckle. “Ah, virgins. I love them.”

\--oOo-- 

Bethany wasn’t quite sure how, but she managed to put a meal together that wasn’t burnt, or still raw, even though her hands were shaking. Stocks were low at the beginning of spring but she made do with what there was in the dry store – grains, mainly, and some onions that had begun to sprout - and added the ubiquitous dried fish, which in the archipelago was such a staple that it was almost expected at every meal. She served the food in the dining room, notified Sherlock and Hiccup that it was ready, and retreated to the kitchen to eat her own, carefully avoiding any eye contact with either of them. They called her in when they were finished and she tidied away the bowls and spoons, all the time managing to keep her eyes fixed on the table, the cutlery, the floor, the wall.

She had just finished the dishes when Sherlock called her back. He was still in the dining room, nurturing a green glass filled with an amber liquid. Hiccup had gone to see to Toothless, and she kept her eyes fixed on the table. “Sir.”

“Look at me.”

She looked at him and nearly had to look away again immediately. She was back in the moment where he had kissed her, and she felt herself go bright red as he held her gaze, quite serious.

“You’re dismissed for the evening. Go to your room and take a look at that book.”

“Thank you, Sir,” She said, and made to leave.

“Oh and Bethany,” he said, just as she turned to go, “I promise you, if I had wanted to take advantage of you I would have done so by now. Dismissed.”

She went then, back to the safety of her little room, away from Sherlock’s quicksand presence. She was completely knocked sideways by the effect he was having on her. It felt like she was drowning, and what was worse was that part of her, a part that she was not in any way familiar with, seemed to be enjoying it, and it terrified her. Sitting on her straw-filled mattress shaking, he resolved then that as soon as there was even the slightest opportunity she had to get away from this place, danger or not.

\--oOo-- 

Feeling a little calmer at having made her decision, she picked up the small book and started studying the pictures. _A book of words_. It didn’t take her long to work out why he had called it that. The pictures were easy to understand, but the thing that really excited her was that the runes at the bottom of each picture described the thing in the image. Simple words, four runes, five runes long. _Ship. Tree. Fish. Sheep._ As she leafed through the pages she started to see the patterns in the runes, beginning to see that that rune always made the same sound, _ee, Sh, p._ It was as if a whole new world opened up for her, and she sat with the book, flicking backward and forward, comparing the shapes and sounds.

She was so absorbed in it that she had not noticed the door opening. It was only when she heard the tinkling sound of metal that she looked up and realised that Sherlock was standing in the doorway, watching her. He was holding the dragon-proof chain in his hand. “Bedtime.”

She was confused a moment and didn’t move, not having realised that the thin chain would be a permanent fixture in her life here. Besides, she was still in her day clothes, and he was staring at her. After a while Sherlock said, “Bethany, get changed. I’m not known for my patient nature.”

She jumped up from her chair and changed as well as she could with her back to him, fervently hoping she was not exposing herself. She could practically feel his sardonic smile but when she turned round he was grinning. He nodded at the wall, and said with open amusement, “You do realise there’s a mirror there.”

She snapped her head towards the wall, realised that he was right, and looked back at him, blushing furiously. Sherlock, however, just rolled his eyes and fastened the chain to her collar in a businesslike fashion, the other end onto the bed. Then he got up and walked out, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short. But good things come in small packages, right?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everybody makes mistakes, but Bethany makes several whoppers.

The household settled into some kind of routine in the following days. Sherlock would get her up in the morning, and she would serve breakfast and see to the animals, collect the eggs and milk the goat. Hiccup and Sherlock would plan out their day, and quite often either or both of them would go out on a foray. There was the daily sweeping and cleaning, the laundry, the folding and putting away. She would serve lunch if the men were there, and in the afternoons before cooking dinner she would do a variety of things depending on what Hiccup or Sherlock required. She sewed or baked, aired the furs on the beds or dried the fish that Toothless would often bring back. Hiccup showed her the leatherwork that he was doing in his workshop, and she began to practice on the scraps he had spare – joining pieces, attaching buckles, punching holes, decorating the hard leathers he used for armour. They discovered that she had a natural flair for decoration, and she worked for hours on a small image of Toothless that she embossed into a piece of brown leather, filling in the dragon with black and grey and picking out his eyes in a brilliant green. Hiccup was delighted with it and put it on display in the workshop. The two of them maintained a relaxed closeness while working, although she was very careful not to overstep any boundaries. Sherlock had a tendency to be suddenly found leaning in the doorway, watching them, or work on some project within earshot, making no secret of the fact he was keeping an eye on them both.

There were some vegetable beds inside the compound on the sunniest side, and during the first few days Bethany harvested the late carrots and sowed the new onions and leeks, Sherlock explaining to her how one crop should follow the other, never grow roots in the same place two years in a row, plant garlic and marigolds to keep the pests at bay. Without wishing to admit it to herself, she relished it. His knowledge was expansive and on the days when he was in a good mood he shared it freely, and she learned more than she could ever have done at home. The flutters that she felt every time he was anywhere near her she tried to ignore as much as she could and he kept his distance, and at night made sure she was changed before securing the chain to her collar without theatre.

On one occasion Sherlock sat her down in the study and went through the little book with her, seeing how much she had taught herself, pointing out small mistakes and some of the trickier combinations of runes that she had not been able to work out. At the end he gave her two sheets of raw paper, a small pot of ink and a pen. “Copy them.”

As before, she cherished these rare materials as treasure. On her weekly afternoon off she sat at the kitchen table with the sun streaming in, copying the letters slowly and meticulously, trying to keep them as small as possible so as to make the paper go further. At the bottom, she tried something.

It felt strange, seeing her name on a piece of paper, and she thought with a sense of disbelief, _I wrote that._

Sherlock walked past the kitchen and, seeing her at work with the writing, came in. He stood close by, stooping over her, and looked at her runes and at the name uncertainly written at the bottom of the page. Then he gently took the pen off her and made a correction, changing the third letter slightly.

“It’s a _th_ , not a hard _t_ ,” he said, returning the pen to her. “Carry on.”

He left, but the butterflies refused to settle for the rest of the afternoon.

\--oOo-- 

It would have been easy for this new life to slip into normality, for her to settle to this new set of circumstances which was, on the face of it, not at all bad. On occasion she found herself genuinely happy, and her idea of escape was gradually pushed to the back of her mind as a pipe dream. There was no way she could get anywhere during the day, when the dragon would be able to pick her out from afar, and during the night she could not even leave her room. She became slowly resigned to her fate, but two things changed that overnight.

Early one morning Hiccup knocked on her door. “Bethany, I need your help early today. Can you get dressed and come with me, please?”

She opened the door to him in her nightdress. Gesturing to the chain on her collar, she said, “I’m sorry Sir, I can’t leave the room yet.”

Hiccup stared at her. “Really? He’s been chaining you down here every night? By Odin, he’s _mad_. Hold on.”

He went off, and returned a moment later with Sherlock, half dressed, pulling a shirt over his head as he came down the hallway. He looked scruffy and partly asleep as he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the chain. “There. Loki knows why you have to get up hunting for wolfberries at this time in the morning. Surely they’ll wait.”

“They’re better before the sun hits them. You of all people should know that, Sherlock,” Hiccup retorted.

“Hmph. I don’t know why you don’t just stick with the knapweed. It’s just as good and not half as tiresome to obtain.” Sherlock was about to return to his room.

“You know, you could always just not chain her to the bed. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. It’s a bit, you know, control-freaky.”

Sherlock turned to him again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have no reason to trust her.”

“Oh really. That’s just not fair.” Hiccup was getting quite heated now. “She’s worked brilliantly for you, and for me. I really think you should cut her a bit of slack, Sherlock. I’m sure she’d be absolutely fine.” He stopped, and thought a moment. “I’ll vouch for her.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “And what if you’re wrong?”

“Ehm, I don’t know. I’ll punish her.” Hiccup waved his hands vaguely through the air.

Sherlock guffawed at this. “Dread slave owner Hiccup. Terrifying.” Hiccup scowled back at him. “I won’t be wrong, Sherlock.”

Sherlock weighed it a moment, and then said, “Fine. But if you’re wrong, _I’ll_ punish her. And there will be no lily-livered complaints from you.”

\--oOo-- 

The second thing that changed the story for Bethany was the morning that followed. Hiccup took her out of the compound and higher up in the scrawny forest that was clinging to the steep rocks. They scrambled their way up slowly and she could not miss the small clump of newly emerged plants they came straight past. _Sleeproot_. She looked up to see Hiccup focused on the track ahead, taking no notice of her at all. Quickly, she worked her fingers around the root of one of the plants and gently pulled. It came out whole, and she nervously stuffed the root into the pouch around her waist as fast as she could. Then she followed him up, trying to keep her breath steady.

\--oOo-- 

Over the next few days she began to make some preparations. Every day she held back some of her food, the things that would keep, and hid it at the back of her wardrobe. She took some preserves from the dry store, too, nothing too conspicuous. One morning, while tidying up, she filled a water skin and quietly carried it to her room to put it with her stash. Then, finally, in a moment of great bravery she took a long knife from the kitchen and hid it amongst her clothes. She had everything she needed, and all she had to do now was wait.

\--oOo--

Her opportunity came a few evenings later. Hiccup had left early that morning on an errand that would see him away overnight. Sherlock had taken very little interest in her, and had allowed her to busy herself with her jobs without interference. It had given her a chance to grind the sleeproot down and allow it to stew as her grandmother had taught her. Come dinnertime she strained the mixture and added some of it to his beer. It barely changed the colour. _Now, or never_ , she thought, and she tried to be as casual as possible serving the evening meal.

As she had hoped Sherlock retired to his bedroom just after nightfall, sending her to bed early. It was just what she needed. On her way from the kitchen she took a small rucksack from the array of bags hanging by the front door and quietly filled it with her secret supplies when she got back to the safety of her room. Then she waited a while to make sure Sherlock had gone to sleep, keeping quiet, looking absentmindedly through the little book by the light of a small oil lamp. If she felt a little pang of regret about leaving it behind she refused to acknowledge it.

When she was sure Sherlock was asleep she crept out of the house, quietly opening and closing the front door a crack so she could squeeze out, tiptoeing across the courtyard, her heart pounding. She was terrified that she might wake the chickens or, even worse, the cockerel. However, nothing moved or made a noise and she thanked Freya for her luck, feeling a little calmer as soon as she made it to the compound gate. Once she had left the house behind she moved a little more freely, and when she got inside the woods she lit the little lantern she had brought. By its weak light she descended the steep path, thankful for the darkness that prevented her from seeing the steep drop below.

She got to the beach quicker than she expected. Thanking her good fortune she made her way straight to the four boats lying anchored quietly in the harbour and the took stock of her situation. The only sound she could hear was the soft lapping of the waves on the hulls of the boats, the quiet creaking of the woodwork as they gently pushed against their moorings. The island was in total darkness, and there was no indication that her escape had been noticed. _So far so good_.

She climbed aboard the smallest of the sloops, stowed her bag under the tiller seat and started to uncover and raise the jib as quickly as her trembling hands would allow her. It went up far too slow for her liking, but eventually she managed to tie the rope down to her satisfaction, cursing her nerves as she struggled. She shakily cast off the mooring line and turned the little boat into the wind, freedom tantalisingly close within her reach now. The little ship came round in an agonisingly slow arc from its sheltered position at the moorings and she was nearly hopping up and down inside the boat willing it on, terrified that she might see Sherlock running down the beach at any moment, immune to sleeproot for some reason, chasing her down like easy prey. As it was, the beach was silent, the boat turned, and she steered it quietly out of the cove. Once out on the open sea she undid and raised the mainsail and the boat caught the wind, jumping forward, speeding her into freedom. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t care as long as it was as far from the island as possible. Heady with relief she jumped onto the seat in the rear, grabbed the tiller under her arm and steered the ship as close to the wind as she dared.

\--oOo-- 

She kept going for as long as she had the strength to hold the tiller. Sailing the boat at top speed meant keeping it close to the wind, and it was physical work that tired her out. Her intention had been to sail as far away from the island as possible during the night, and then land the ship in a quiet cove somewhere to hide during the day and hopefully find some people that could tell where she was. Then she could start planning her way home. However, no land was showing during the night, and when she finally felt she could go on no longer she let down the sails and tied them down, allowing the boat to drift. It didn’t really matter where it floated to since she had not planned a course, and so she sat back against the stern and rested, not quite ready to fall asleep, feeling elated with her success so far. The wind had died down much since the beginning of the evening and it was quiet apart from the sloshing of the water of the endless sea around her, and heaving a satisfied sigh she closed her eyes and relaxed.

Not five minutes later there was a soft rushing sound and a quiet _thud._ The front of the ship suddenly dipped and she opened her eyes, wondering if the boat had hit something. Instead she could see a large dark shape sitting on the prow, two keen green eyes looking at her in an unfriendly fashion. The dragon opened it mouth with a growl, an ominous purple glow visible in the back of its throat. She could see teeth, rows and rows of them, and from somewhere in the dark came Hiccup’s voice, sounding ominous. “Going somewhere?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany is beginning to realise she's been not so clever after all.

She panicked and scrambled for her bag, her hands finding the knife as she rummaged around it madly. She pulled it out, waving it in front of her in what she hoped was a threatening fashion. Hiccup said nothing, but Toothless fired off a small shot of purple light that hit the blade, knocking it out of her hand, across the side of the boat and into the sea. Then the dragon jumped into the boat and slowly advanced towards her, growling. “Next shot will be on you. He doesn’t miss,” Hiccup said from above. Then he jumped off Toothless and came to her, his face set with anger. “I vouched for you.”

She backed away from him as far as she could, up the stern of the boat. For one wild moment she considered letting herself fall backwards into the water and swimming for her life, but the thought had not even coherently formed in her head when Hiccup’s hand shot out, holding a sword. As he held it towards her throat it burst into flames. “Don’t.”

She stared at the flames in front of her face in horror, unable to understand, her last panicked strength quickly draining from her. Then she sagged onto the seat beside the tiller, utterly defeated and drained. Hiccup withdrew the sword, but Toothless did not change his stance, eyeing her up threateningly and softly growling. Bethany stared at his black bulk, blinking, finding it hard to form any thoughts, and numbly said, “Dragon.”

Hiccup looked at her, still angry, while pulling a piece of leather thong from his pockets and binding her hands behind her back. “Yeah. What about him.”

She tried to look back at Hiccup, trying to make sense of what was happening. “They don’t fly at night.”

Hiccup’s face was a picture of disbelief and disdain. “Really, Bethany? That was part of your brilliant plan? He’s a Nightfury. It’s what he does best.”

He pushed her forwards, hooking his foot under her leg as she went and pulling her over, and she fell flat on her face on the deck of the boat as he said coolly, “Lie still.”

Without further consideration he tied her ankles together and then joined the straps to her wrists, pulling her feet up towards her hands and effectively immobilising her. Then he knelt down next to her, looking livid. “You do realise what you’ve done, don’t you, Bethany. Running off, stealing a _ship_? Sherlock’s going to _kill_ you. And I don’t know if I can do anything to stop him. To be honest, at the moment I’m not even inclined to try.”

She bit back pointless tears. “Let me go. Please.”

His voice was stony. “No. And that’s please _Sir_ ”.

He ran up the jib and raised the mainsail, then quickly turned the boat. “Come on bud, let’s go home.”

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey but steered the boat silently, eating some of her stolen rations. Over time her restricted position made her muscles cramp, the pain and the fear of what lay ahead making her feel nauseous and she threw up on the deck. Hiccup either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and she lay in the slowly drying pool of sick, wishing she was already dead.

\--oOo-- 

They got back as the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, the sky aflame with red. It was promising to be a beautiful day, and she stared up at the sky numbly, wondering if she would see the end of it. Hiccup moored the boat in the cove and undid the ties joining her feet to her wrists. Then he dragged her onto her feet, but she couldn’t stand up and sank back onto her knees, and he looked at her as she sat in a heap and said, “You stink.”

He got a pail of water and unceremoniously emptied it over her head, unwittingly repeating the actions of the slave traders not many weeks ago. _Maybe_ , she thought, as he wiped her face with a rough cloth, _there isn’t such a big difference after all._

When he was done Hiccup pulled her back to her feet again and hoisted her onto Toothless, jumping into the saddle behind her. He was only holding onto her lightly as the dragon bounded into the air with great beats of its wings and she screamed in terror, feeling she could slip off him at any moment as the harbour rapidly disappeared beneath her. With both her hands and feet bound she had nothing to hold onto, and was completely at the mercy of the dragon’s willingness to carry her, and Hiccup’s skill at flying him. By the time they landed in the little courtyard she was shaking, and sobbing uncontrollably.

\--oOo--

It was a sad, soggy mess that Hiccup dragged into the study and carelessly pushed towards Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair peeling a willow switch with a small knife, his face unreadable. Bethany, her feet still bound, lost her footing and tripped, ending in a heap on the floor in front of his feet. “You were right,” Hiccup said behind her. "She was halfway to Berserker island when we stopped her."

Sherlock said nothing. He finished the switch and put it on the small table next to his chair, where it joined a small pile. Then he reached into the basket on the other side of his chair and pulled out a fresh branch, proceeding to strip it carefully. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill her.”

Hiccup sighed. “Look, I’m angry too, Sherlock. But she’s just a kid.”

Sherlock gave a short, scathing laugh. There was no humour in it. “She’s a kid who tried to poison me in my own home before stealing one of my ships. You’re blind, Hiccup.”

Hiccup was taken aback. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

Sherlock picked up the drinking horn on the table and held it out to him. “Smell it.”

Looking dubious, Hiccup came over and sniffed the cup’s contents. “What is it?”

“Sleeproot. A strong sedative, inducing a deep state of sleep.” Sherlock leaned over, tapping the tip of the branch he was holding under Bethany’s chin, making her look up. His eyes were cold. “which in its dried form has no aroma, but when fresh has the not unpleasant scent of aniseed.”

Behind her, she could hear Hiccup whisper, “By the _Gods_ , Bethany.”

She cast her eyes down, unable to look at Sherlock anymore. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“No,” he answered, matter-of-fact. “You’re scared. You’ll be sorry when I’m done with you.”

He stood up and drew his sword. Hiccup gasped and said, “Sherlock, no!”

Sherlock looked at him as he slowly walked behind Bethany. “And I believe we agreed, if you were wrong, there would be no lily-livered complaints from you,” then he put his sword between Bethany’s ankles and pulled sharply. The leather straps binding her fell to the floor, cleanly sliced in two.

Sherlock walked back to the table and picked up the pile of switches. Then, walking past Hiccup’s stunned face, he said, scathingly, “She’ll live for now, but she’ll rue it. Bring her.”

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup dragged Bethany back onto her feet and looked her in the face, hissing. “You tried to poison him. Are you _insane?_ ”

She looked away from him. “I just wanted to get home, Sir.”

Hiccup heaved and angry sigh and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, she's young and incredibly naive, OK. Let's just hope Sherlock takes this into consideration because at the moment he doesn't seem to be in much of a mood to look after her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE
> 
> Please skip to the next chapter you want. I'll give a brief summary without detail there at the beginning for you to catch up.
> 
> Chapter summary: Sherlock executes the inevitable while Hiccup makes an attempt at damage control.

They followed where Sherlock had gone, and found him in front of the heavy door at the back of the hall, opening it with a large cast-iron key. The door swung outward with a creaking sound and hit the stone wall on the other side with a resounding clang. There was a short set of wooden stairs in front of them that lead into a dark room. Cold air streamed out towards them; the room was set right into the mountain.

Sherlock went down the stairs ahead of them and lit a lamp in the wall on his left. Then he carried on along the wall, lighting another lamp every few steps, working his way around the room and gradually revealing a sight that filled Bethany with horror and made Hiccup swallow audibly. When he was done, Sherlock returned to the pair. “Welcome to my dungeon.” He looked at Bethany darkly and said, with no trace of humour, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Hiccup was finding it hard to come to grips with the chamber of horrors that had unfolded in front of them. He tried – and failed – to ignore the pile of skulls in the far corner. He tried and only partly failed not to recognise or imagine the use of the torture equipment distributed around the room. Sherlock looked at him, eyes narrowed. “What. Did you really think it was all stories?”

Hiccup shook his head absentmindedly, looking around again. “...No.” For once he was lost for words.

Sherlock picked up the switches that he had left on the steps, then looked around. “Let’s tie her onto... that one.” He pointed to a black diagonal cross that was erected in the back of the room. “There are advantages to having somebody watch the front. You can be in charge of the fainting.”

Hiccup looked at him uncomfortably but said nothing. Jaw set, he lead the shaking Bethany to the cross. As he tied her arms to it he whispered, “I’m sorry, Bethany.”

He found himself with a small but very sharp looking knife in his face. Sherlock had moved like a cat. “There will be no sympathy for the guilty, boy.”

It took a moment for him to regain his composure, but then Hiccup turned his face away. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock gave him a dark stare and returned his attention to Bethany. With a quick flick of the knife he cut the collar of her shirt, then ripped the fabric all the way down to leave her back exposed. “Right then.”

He picked up a switch and gently ran the fingers of his other hand along her back. She registered the touch numbly, too terrified, waiting for the inevitable to follow.

“Now,” Sherlock said, rolling up his sleeves, “While I believe you generally overestimate my love for violence, I will make no secret of the fact that I will enjoy this. Because _nobody_ ”, he brought the switch down with a tremendous _whack_ , “steals”, _whack_ , “my”, _whack_ , “boats.” With a last underhand _whack_ he broke the switch, and he looked at the frayed thing approvingly a moment before tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Bethany screamed, her back on fire. Sherlock walked to the front of the cross and lifted her head up by the hair, making her look at him. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.

“I know,” he answered, his face feral. “And I’ve not even started yet. Now count.” He dropped her head again.

What followed would have been a hazy nightmare of lashing pain, were it not for the counting. It marked every searing lash as an individual point of agony, a unique red mark on her back. She had no idea what she was counting to, in between her screams. There was no break in the rhythm, and on the occasions where she lost count he would shout the number at her. “Twenty-six. Add two.”

In the end, she fainted around forty. Hiccup brought her back out of blackness with cold water on her face, looking very concerned. “You’re killing her, Sherlock.”

“Not yet. Forty-two. Add two for the lily-livered complaint.”

Finally, after fifty-eight lashes, he stopped. The floor was littered with broken switches and Sherlock was sweating and looking quite pleased with himself. Hiccup gave the quietly sobbing Bethany some water, which she drank with difficulty. Her back was a universe of pure pain.

Sherlock turned to Hiccup. “Cabinet at the back. There’s a tattoo kit in there. Get it for me.”

Hiccup turned to go without thinking, then stopped. “Wait. What are you doing to her?”

Sherlock looked at him, surprised at the question. “Forfeit. Runaway. Kill on sight. I’m giving her a _skull_ , Hiccup. After which I’m of a mind to put her in the rowing boat, cast her off and see how long she’ll last.”

“No.”

Sherlock straightened, eyeing him up. “Are you challenging me, boy?”

Hiccup raised his hands. “No, no, I’m not. Listen, I understand it’s your right to do whatever you want to do to her. It’s just...“ He paused. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Hiccup waved his hand in the air. “If it weren’t for me she wouldn’t be in this situation. I’m partly to blame, Sherlock, by vouching for her. I don’t think she should get a death sentence for it.”

Sherlock glowered at him. “Are you suggesting I should punish you, too?”

“Ehm, no, no, that’s not what I was getting at.” Hiccup sounded decidedly on edge. “I’m suggesting _I_ should punish her. Because she broke my trust, too.”

Sherlock handed him one of the few remaining unbroken switches. “Be my guest. I can’t see how it would change anything.”

Hiccup weighed the thin branch in his hand and gave it an experimental _swish_. “It’s not really my style, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed. “Then pick something else. Loki knows there’s enough here to choose from.”

Hiccup took a deep breath. “Look, can I talk to you for a moment, privately?”

Sherlock looked at him apprehensively. Then he said, “Fine. Hold on.”

He took something from a wooden box on the near wall and rubbed it on Bethany’s back. She screamed as the pain of her cuts suddenly increased tenfold, and Sherlock turned to leave.

“Wait, Sherlock, what was that?” Hiccup said, eyeing the screaming girl with concern.

“Salt,” he said, flatly. And then, with some amusement, added, “The old ones are sometimes the best.”

\--oOo-- 

They left her alone for what may have been hours, but locked in her own personal hell she had no way of knowing. The salt caused her cuts to burn like fire, more so when she moved, so she kept as still as she could and cried. She was immensely thirsty. On top of it all she had lost all feeling in her legs and was unable to stand properly, the ropes at her wrists cutting into her arms as she half hung off them. Not for the first time that day she wished she was dead.

\--oOo-- 

She had become resigned to the fact that they had simply left her to die or forgotten about her when the door opened and Sherlock and Hiccup came back into the room in silence. Hiccup untied Bethany’s arms while Sherlock watched him, long arms folded, looking skeptical. She sank to the floor when her hands were free, unable to use her legs at all.

Hiccup tried to lift her carefully, attempting not to hurt her, but she was a dead weight and he struggled to get up. Eventually he looked to Sherlock. “A little help here?”

“No.” Sherlock walked over to him and put a small key in his tunic pocket. “You’ve got a month. After that I’ll make a decision. Up to that point, as far as I’m concerned, she’s dead,” and with that, he turned to leave. As he walked up the steps and out of the door, he said, “Don’t give me an excuse to change my mind, Hiccup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I really am. I'm not asking you to see it from Sherlock's point of view, either. Hopefully Hiccup will sort this one out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of chapter 12: Sherlock has punished Bethany harshly, but Hiccup has managed to convince him to let her live, at least for now. He has given Hiccup one month after which he will let them know his final decision, and has left them to it.
> 
> This chapter: In which Hiccup makes Bethany work.

In the end Hiccup stayed with her until Bethany recovered enough strength to stand up on her own. Every time he tried to support her she almost collapsed; there was simply nowhere he could hold onto her that did not cause her immense pain. Once she was on her feet he talked her gently across the room and up the stairs, holding her hand and quietly reassuring her. She followed him numbly, not really registering what was going on but following the friendly sound of his voice on instinct. Slowly they made their way through the house and to the front door.

When Hiccup opened it Bethany stopped and blinked, not understanding. It was broad daylight outside, a beautiful spring day that looked like it was just turning into evening. She simply couldn’t grasp that it was still the same day, when in her mind it wasn’t even the same life. It took Hiccup a long time to convince her to step out into the courtyard and follow him to the furthest outbuilding.

He got her to carefully lie on her front on a couple of old furs that he dragged from a corner, and said with gentle concern, “Bethany, I’m going to have to sort your back out. It’s going to hurt, OK? I’ll be really careful but you’re going to have to be brave for me.”

She nodded, vaguely thinking that it couldn’t get much worse; as it turned out, she was wrong. The cold water that Hiccup sponged onto her back to wash the salt off felt like hot lava, and she ended up screaming into the furs begging for him to stop. He didn’t, gently finishing the job and finally covering her back in an ointment that soothed the burning pain a little, allowing her to calm down. She lay with her face down for a while, crying quietly. Eventually she turned to Hiccup with the question that occupied her entire being. “What’s going to happen to me?”

He let the lack of protocol pass and shrugged. “I don’t know. For the moment you’re alive, and I think that’s a start.”

She nodded. Asking for certainty at this time was pointless, she understood that, but she’d hoped he might have given her something more to hold onto. Hiccup stood up. “Get some rest, Bethany. This is going to be hard work.” He almost walked off and then checked himself. “Oh yes.” He picked the thin chain out of his pocket and fastened it to her collar. Then he locked it to an iron ring set in the wall of the building, making sure it was secure before he looked her over, gave a deep sigh full of concern, and walked out.

\--oOo--  

She had no idea how long she’d slept for. When she awoke it was very early morning, and she could not remember what had happened after Hiccup had left the evening before. She lay with her eyes closed a while, wondering how much pain she would be in once she moved. From the numbness of her right arm it was clear she’d lain in the same position all night – flat on her front, unmoving.

“Bethany.”

She shot up, not having realised there was someone in the room with her. Hiccup was standing next to her makeshift bed, fully dressed and ready to go out. As she sat up her back screamed in pain and she doubled over, gasping, but he ignored her agony and said, “Bethany, get up. We’re going out.”

It took her a moment to sit up straight and look at him, uncomprehending. He unlocked her chain as she was staring at him and handed her a plain shirt, saying, “Come on, get dressed.”

She did so slowly and painfully while Hiccup watched her impatiently. After she finished he got her up and practically marched her out of the hut. She was apprehensive – he had always been calm and friendly with her and his terse mood worried her. They descended the steep stairs to the beach in silence, Hiccup occasionally urging Bethany on to move quicker, as she walked as quickly as her painful back would allow her.

\--oOo--

“Start with the boat.”

Hiccup had handed her a pail on a rope and a hard scrubbing brush. He gestured to the little ship she had escaped on. “You left it in a mess yesterday. Clean it.”

As she got to work on the deck of the boat, gradually working her way from the stern to the prow, scrubbing every nook and cranny on her hands and knees until the deck was pristine and her knees were raw, it didn’t take her long to work out what Hiccup was doing. _Penance_ , she thought, _he’s making me pay by making me work_. As a punishment she thought she could bear it; she’d never shirked hard graft and so she set her jaw and worked, even though the midday sun was hot on her painful shoulders and the red marks on her back hurt at every turn. Hiccup busied himself on the beach, drawing shapes in the sand with a long stick, rubbing them out and drawing them again. She wasn’t sure what he was doing but daren’t spend time trying to work it out, and when she had finished the deck to her satisfaction she called him over, tired from the hard work. “I’m done, Sir.”

He looked at it, inspecting every last bit of the deck. “Yeah, that looks good. Do it again.”

She stared at him. “Sorry, Sir?”

“Again,” Hiccup repeated himself. “I said, do it again.”

Three times he made her scrub the deck from back to front with no food and very little water. On the third time, he sat on the seat by the rudder to watch her. “So, how are you doing?”

She was determined not to show him how tired and hungry she was. “I’m fine, Sir.”

“Excellent. Want to scrub it again after this?”

She had to say something. “It seems a little pointless, Sir.”

He laughed. “Yes, well, that’s the joy of being a slave, isn’t it? All the hard work, not a lot of sense in it, and all at the whim of your owner.”

She sat up on her knees with a frown and spoke her mind. “Master Sherlock never made me do pointless tasks, Sir.”

Hiccup stared at her. “No, he didn’t. Funny that.”

She could only hold his eye a few seconds as she followed the thought through. _Oh._

\--oOo-- 

He didn’t make her scrub it a fourth time. Instead, after she finished they had some food and looked at the slowly setting sun for a while. It was mid spring now, and the days were lengthening rapidly. She hadn’t realised the whole day had gone by as she’d cleaned the ship like it had never been cleaned before, and it made her feel a little disjointed on top of her physical discomfort. Her arms were aching and she had taken the skin off both her knees. Climbing back up the steep little path in the gathering dusk was a slow and painful task, but thankfully Hiccup let her pick her own speed.

\--oOo-- 

The following day went by in much the same fashion. Hiccup woke her up at the crack of dawn with no breakfast. “So, I liked what you did with the boat yesterday. Today we’ll do the bigger one. Up you get.”

She was stiff from the day before and her knees ached at every movement, but the welts on her back seemed a little better today. _Small comforts_ , she thought as they made their way down the little path again. It was promising to be another glorious day.

The second ship was quite a bit bigger and her knees were bleeding by the time she had finished cleaning it. She looked over at Hiccup on the beach, dreading being told to do it again. “I’m finished, Sir.”

He climbed aboard and looked around. “Yes, that’s a good job. Clean it again.”

She looked at him pleadingly, gesturing to her knees. “Sir, please, I’m bleeding. I think I understand your point.”

“No, I really don’t think you do,” he said, and left her standing on the deck as he went back to the beach. “I’m sure you’ll work something out.”

She bit back tears as she watched him go. In the end she ripped the sleeves off her tunic and bound them around her knees to afford herself some protection. Then she cleaned the deck again.

It was starting to get towards late afternoon when she finished the second clean. Hiccup came over to inspect her work. “Ok, good. Great, in fact. Do it again.”

She looked at him in disbelief, as at this rate it would be dark by the time she finished. He returned her incredulous look with a shrug, and said, “Well it’s not my problem you’re slow, Bethany. Do it again.”

She was seething. It wasn’t her fault her knees were skinned and making her slow. If it was anyone’s fault, it was Hiccup’s. She set out to work again with a face like thunder as Hiccup sat down in the prow. When she was halfway through, he said, “So, how are you doing?”

She was very close to not answering at all. “I’m _fine_ , Sir.”

“Really,” Hiccup said cheerfully. “You seem to be struggling a bit.”

Again, she could not just sit there and keep her mouth shut. “Well it’s not really my fault I’m slow when my knees are bleeding from the work you’ve given me, Sir.”

Hiccup grinned. “Yes, well, that’s the joy of being a slave, isn’t it? Being treated unfairly and blamed for things that were never your fault. And all at the whim of your owner.”

She looked at him as his point sank in. Then she said, very quietly, “Master Sherlock never treated me unfairly, Sir.”

“No,” Hiccup said quietly, “No, he didn’t. Now finish the ship.”

She finished eventually, when the sun had long sunk beneath the sea and a thin moon was the only light left to guide their path back up the steep slopes. Hiccup left her chained to the wall with a small piece of bread and some dried fish, the only food she’d had all day, and she cried herself to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany does some more cleaning, and rather a lot of thinking.

She woke the next morning to the sound of rain of the roof of the hut. After days of steady sunshine the weather had broken and it had done so with a vengeance. It was torrential.

Hiccup came through the door, munching his breakfast, covered from top to toe in wet weather gear. “Ah, you’re awake. Excellent. Let’s get started.”

 _He’s not going to make me clean a ship in this,_ she thought. She got up, trying not to think about food. “Sir, I have nothing to keep me dry.”

“Well,” he said, still chewing, “skin’s waterproof. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

It was a good thing she’d slept well, or she would have broken down there and then. Instead, she squared her shoulders and rose to his challenge, determined to show she was made of sterner stuff. “I’m sure I will, Sir.”

\--oOo-- 

She was drenched to the bone by the time they got to the ships, and bruised in several places where she’d slipped on the steep path. Her spirit was decidedly dampened.

“Right,” Hiccup said when they got to the moorings. “Storm Petrel. Off you go.”

While she’d thought he might have this lined up as a task, she didn’t really quite believe he was going through with it. “Sir, I can’t really clean in the pouring rain. It would be pointless.”

Hiccup shrugged. “We’ve covered that point already, Bethany. Pointless or not, that’s what I want you to do today. Off you go.”

\--oOo-- 

It was a truly mammoth task with only a bucket and a scrubbing brush. She tried her best but the ship was large, and it took her hours to get around it, the futility of the task staring her in the face as she did so, the rain drenching her relentlessly. She was shivering when she’d finished and she could no longer feel her knees, padding or no. The lack of food over the last three days was beginning to take its toll and she felt faint as she called down to Hiccup, who was lying in his bunk bed below decks, reading. “I’m finished, Sir.”

He came up and looked around. “Well I can’t see if that’s any good or not, it’s soaking. Do it again.”

She stared at him in utter disbelief. “Sir, it’s raining. Of course the deck is soaking. I did a good job.”

“Well, I can’t tell. Do it again.” He went back to his dry bunk, leaving her standing in the pouring rain crying in desperation. She simply didn’t have the strength.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany didn’t know where she found the willpower, but eventually she dragged her sore and sodden body to the fore end of the deck and started scrubbing again. The pointlessness of the exercise was completely clear to her, and she was just going through the motions as best as she could. She was going at a snail’s pace now, and the afternoon – such as it was, with the dark clouds obscuring most of the sunlight – wore on steadily. It was nearly dark when she finished the second round. “Sir, I’m finished.”

Hiccup came up and briefly looked round again. “No, I still can’t see it. Besides, it’s dark now, so I really can’t see what you have done. Do it again.”

She looked at him, remembering how he used to be kind to her, and broke. “Master Hiccup, please. I can’t do it, Sir.” Sobs were racking her body and she was unable to hold them back, her legs giving way as she lost the last of her strength and sank to the floor. Hiccup just stood by the railings and watched her, and when she had sobbed herself out he knelt down by her side. “And what’s my point, Bethany?” He asked more gently.

She looked at him through her tears. “Master Sherlock never set me an impossible task, Sir. I’m so sorry.”

He smiled at her then. “Good. Come on, let’s have some food.”

He took her down the little ladder into the dry of the hold, helped her get undressed and put a blanket around her. She sat on his bunk, eating bread and cheese and slowly warming up, the relief that today’s ordeal was done washing over her. Hiccup watched her. “I’m sorry I had to make those points, Bethany, but I’m trying to save your life.”

She looked at him, wondering how he was planning to do that. “Thank you, Sir. I fear that may be an impossible task, too.”

Hiccup looked at his hands. “We’ll see.”

\--oOo--  

They got back late, Bethany exhausted, staggering up the last few steps of the steep path and into the compound, across the courtyard and into the outbuilding she was sleeping in. She threw the sodden blanket that had covered her on the way into a corner and flopped onto the furs as Hiccup followed her in, carrying her wet clothes. “Bethany, you’ve got to hang this stuff up. It’s the only clothes you’ve got at the moment.” She looked at him, considering her options very briefly, and forced herself to get up again. It was only one more little thing, after all. There was a rack at the back of the room and she hung her clothes and the blanket with effort, then flung herself back onto her makeshift bed. Hiccup fastened the chain to her collar and unexpectedly kissed her on her forehead. “You’re doing fine.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany learns some new skills, and is made to think.

It was broad daylight when she awoke and she sat up with a start, worried that she had overslept. Then she realised that she couldn’t go anywhere until Hiccup turned up, so she sank back onto the furs and enjoyed the moment of calm before what was sure to become another day of hard work. It wasn’t long before Hiccup arrived, carrying a small breakfast. “As Sherlock would say, you’re no use starved.” She smiled at him and he watched her eat. “No more boats, we’re staying here for the next few days. There’s a few things I’ve been itching to do for ages. But first you’ve got a bit more cleaning to do. It’s not pointless, though. It’s Toothless.”

The cleaning job was not the dragon himself, but Toothless’ compound, to the side of her hut. While the dragon roamed freely during the day he slept in a large outbuilding at night, and it was in dire need of a good clean. Bethany got stuck in without hesitation – this was a job she could see the point of. Besides, she liked Toothless, and she wasn’t feeling all that bad now that her back had mostly healed up and her knees were not being taxed. Hiccup fetched all the equipment she needed from the house and went off, and she busied herself with the mucking out, sweeping and mopping and spreading fresh straw. Toothless stood in the yard watching her and looking quite excited, and he gave her a friendly nudge when she finished the job. As she rubbed the dragon on his head and under his chin she smiled. For the first time in days she felt close to happy.

For the rest of the afternoon Hiccup got her to help him tidy up his workshop. Tools and materials had been spread around the place over time, and she helped him organise it all and make sense of it, sorting out what should be kept, the tools that needed to be repaired and the things that were beyond rescue. While they were working Hiccup talked with her. “So what’s it like, home?”

She told him about her family, her dad with his little fishing boat and his couple of fields, her mum with the sheep and the goats and the handful of chickens, the barley plot and the turnips. It was a simple peasant life, but she’d been happy. She talked about her older brothers who had taught her stuff like trapping rabbits and how to swim, and her little sister who adored her. It made her happy to talk about them, although she felt homesick at the same time. “Lots of opportunities then,” Hiccup said, “new things to learn?”

Bethany thought about it. “Not really, Sir. They were all really big on tradition. My mum wanted me to be a seamstress, like her, and there wasn’t really much of a discussion about it. I thought it was a bit dull....” her voice trailed off as she looked around her, the workshop full of interesting tools and materials she’d never worked with before, across the courtyard to the carefully planned vegetable beds with their fascinating rotation, her eyes finally resting on Sherlock’s complicated water-gathering installation. She looked back at Hiccup. “Oh.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, I know, I’m making another point. Think about it, though.”

\--oOo-- 

He kept her busy over the next few days inside the compound. There were plenty of jobs to do – forgotten corners to be tidied out, stores to be organised, overwintered stock to be sorted through, the rotten and stale produce thrown out, the things that were still edible carefully stored anew. She spent an afternoon mending and fixing the fencing around the animal enclosure, picking up some new techniques from Hiccup who supervised, and spent the day after cleaning, repairing and painting the chicken coop as the chickens roamed around her, clucking their disapproval.

Hiccup started another conversation. “Did you have any animals at home? I don’t mean farm animals, but working animals?”

Bethany shook her head. “No, we didn’t, Sir. Some of the farmers that had more sheep did have dogs though.”

He nodded. “Any of them ever go rogue? You know, bite their owners, run off, that kind of thing?”

She could see where he was going with this, and she answered quietly. “Yes Sir, I remember one occasion where a dog turned on its owner and bit it. And one that ran away and killed some sheep.”

Hiccup let it all sit for a while, allowing her to stew on it. She kept going with the repairs, pretending he wasn't getting to her. Then he said, cheerfully, “So, what happened to the dogs?”

He wasn’t fooling her. “They were put down of course, because they could no longer be trusted. Please, Sir, I’m not an animal.” She’d finished her sentence quietly, because as she said it she’d realised that in this case her argument was empty; as far as Sherlock was concerned there was very little difference – he’d obtained her to work for him, and she had turned on him, tried to drug him, ran off and stolen his ship. With a slave owner’s eye it was easy to see how she had forfeited her life. She stared at the floor, thinking about it, until Hiccup gave her a nudge. “Show you something.”

He showed her how to use tarred felt, something she had never seen before, for the roof of the chicken coop. It was a sticky and messy job but she found it interesting, and while they were working she suggested some improvements to the design of the entrance which meant it was harder for rain to drive into the coop during bad weather. They fixed it together and Hiccup was very pleased with the result. She was much cheered up after that, although she hadn’t forgotten the conversation.

The week continued like this, Hiccup keeping her busy from dawn to dusk with a variety of jobs that had to be done after the winter, and by the end of the week the compound looked ready for summer and she felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. She also realised how many new things she’d learned in just a few days, many of them skills that she would never have picked up had she been at home.

The only thing that caused her distress was Sherlock. He was rarely around, but when he was he ignored her so completely that she felt like she was invisible. While she did not expect any signs of approval from him she wished that at least he would acknowledge her existence when he was near her. She waited in vain; even on the few occasions where he spoke to Hiccup when he was standing right beside her, Sherlock looked right past her as if she wasn’t there.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany does rather a lot of digging, as does Hiccup.

The week that followed Hiccup took her up to the west side of the island, where the ground levelled out after another steep climb along the crags. There was a small meadow there which was not currently used for anything and Hiccup made her carry a pile of spades and other implements to it, which was a task in itself. “We need a couple of barley fields going for winter,” he told her. “We nearly ran out of grain this year and Sherlock’s always reluctant to trade with the other islands. Can’t really blame him, with his reputation.”

He got her to line out the edges of the two new plots with sticks and string, straight, like this, and then the digging began. There was a lot of it and the ground was hard and stony, so that her progress was slow. Hiccup sat with his back against a small tree and watched her while Bethany worked. “I guess that’s one of the real drawbacks to you being here, though. I mean, being owned by one of the region’s most notorious pirates must be pretty awful on the personal front. I’ve heard all the stories of how Sherlock’s raped and pillaged his way around the archipelago. I really hope he hasn’t been too harsh with you.”

She stopped and looked at him. It was clear he was winding her up – he knew full well that Sherlock had left her alone. “Master Sherlock has never taken advantage of me, Sir,” she said quietly. Hiccup just raised his eyebrow. “Yeah, well, It makes me wonder what on Earth you were running away from.”

\--oOo-- 

Digging the barley plots took days. She was frequently left to get on with it by herself as Hiccup was occupied with other tasks, and it gave her plenty of time to think about all the things he had said. So far he’d been completely right, and it made her feel stupid. One afternoon, while taking a quick break to drink some water, she looked back down the hill towards the house in the rock. There was smoke coming from the courtyard where Hiccup had the forge going. She could see the bright red and white front doors and to the side she could make out Sherlock, in shirt sleeves, sharpening his swords, and she swore she could hear the sound of metal on the grindstone. High on the roof Toothless lay dozing in the sunshine, swatting pigeons with his tail. It was peaceful, and interesting, a million miles from what she had grown up with and not safe, and she suddenly felt a great wish to run down the hill and just shout at them all how much she loved being here. The strong feeling frightened her so much that she ran to the other side of the meadow, grabbed her spade and returned to digging furiously, trying not to think.

\--oOo-- 

On the last afternoon of the week Hiccup came up the hill, carrying some lunch for her and a small bag of barley seeds. She ate gratefully as she had worked hard that morning, clearing the last of the stones and raking the soil into a fine tilth. When she finished the food she took the bag of seeds and started sowing the barley, spreading the seeds as evenly as she could. Hiccup sat and watched her. “So, what were you going to do then, at home? Other than being a seamstress? Did you have any plans?”

She wasn’t not sure what he was getting at. Life had been pretty much planned out for her. “I’m sorry Sir, I’m not sure what you mean.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. He wasn’t too comfortable talking about this kind of stuff himself. “Well, you know, I just wondered whether you had your eye on anyone? Any love interests? Did you have a boyfriend?”

She looked at him. “Not like that, Sir. I was going to marry a second cousin at the end of summer. My dad thought it would be a good way to increase the amount of land we were farming because he was living close by, and he was well off.”

Hiccup stared at her in disbelief. “...And did you actually _like_ this person, this wonderful man you were going to spend the rest of your life with?”

She looked away. “Not really, Sir. He was quite a bit older than me, and we didn’t really get on. But my mum said it would be OK, and it’s the way things are done. And I would have been living very close to my family. My mum was looking forward to the grandkids, Sir.”

Hiccup was struggling to get his head around it. “So you were happy to settle for an arranged marriage with cousin Björn, who you don’t like, to become a mother to his kids at nineteen? Popping babies until you wore out early or died in childbirth, all the while resenting your husband? _That’s_ what you were running back to? That’s the life you _wanted_?”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Master Hiccup, it’s not what I wanted. But it’s what I knew, Sir. And now I don’t know _anything_ anymore." She threw her hands up. "I don’t even know where I am.”

He didn’t answer her implied question. Instead he walked over to her and took her hands. “Bethany, I’m starting to believe that Sherlock actually _rescued_ you. What you describe isn’t life. That’s living death. Or, indeed, slavery.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to hold back the tears. “As I said, Sir, I don’t know anything anymore.”

He gave her a hug, squeezing her tight as she had a cry. “It’s OK. Come on, let’s get these seeds in.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany has a moment of insight.

The conversations with Hiccup haunted her for the next few days, to the point where she was finding it hard to focus on her tasks. They were back in the courtyard, this time to repair the perimeter fence with new spars where the winter storms had caused damage, and to paint the entire length of it with a preservative for the year ahead. She worked mostly on her own although Hiccup was around to help her if she needed it. Sherlock had taken the small boat out for a couple of days to do some trade with a nearby island, and Bethany missed his presence even though he had still not acknowledged her existence once. Her mind wandered continually to the words between Hiccup and herself and she found herself dropping tools and paint brushes all the time, and sometimes forgetting what she was doing altogether, ending up staring into space. It was coming to the end of the third week that Sherlock had given Hiccup, and to add to her distracted state of mind there was the trepidation of what might lie ahead.

“Read much, did he, Cousin Björn?” Hiccup was leaning on a fence post, watching her lash a new spar into place. Bethany looked at him. He’d put his finger on another point that had been bothering her a lot after their earlier conversation. “No, he was pretty stupid, and he had a great distrust of books like the rest of my family. He was never interested in learning anything new. I could never have a proper conversation with him either. He was a bully. His name wasn’t Björn, by the way. It was Geir.”

Hiccup grinned at the viciousness with which she was destroying her cousin. He put on his best Sherlock impression. “Hey, watch your protocol, girl. There’s a lot of Sirs missing from that tirade.”

She checked herself. “I’m sorry Sir, I really didn’t like him. And you’ve made me think.”

Hiccup was quiet for a while. “You know Sherlock would have you read, and learn. He likes it when people know stuff. It makes them more useful to him.”

She nodded. It was a conclusion she had come to herself, too, and it had slowly led her to the other conclusion that had begun to loom larger and larger after the conversations that she’d had with Hiccup. She’d been stupid. Looking at it objectively, she should have taken all the opportunities that had been offered her here and been thankful to have managed to escape from a destiny that was mind numbingly dull. The fact she was a slave was almost irrelevant – as Hiccup had rightly pointed out she’d had even fewer choices in her original existence. Instead she had blown it with her bungled escape attempt and signed her own death warrant in the process. She looked at Hiccup. “I’ve been an idiot, Sir. I need to speak with Master Sherlock.”

Hiccup took a deep breath. “Yes. I think you do. But don’t expect a warm reception.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock returned early in the evening. He seemed in a good mood, showing Hiccup some new metal he had acquired at the island market and discussing what they might use it for. They stood on the courtyard in the last of the sunshine and exchanged ideas, and Bethany thought that there would probably never be a better moment. She steeled herself and walked over to the pair.

Sherlock did not acknowledge her at all, but she had expected it and pretended not to notice. She turned to Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, please could you ask Master Sherlock whether he would be willing to speak with me this evening, Sir?”

Hiccup gave her a little smile and turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, Bethany really needs to talk with you. Could you spare her a bit of time tonight?”

Sherlock looked at him coldly. “It’s only been three weeks. I can’t see the point. It would only speed up the inevitable.”

Hiccup carefully measured his words. “Ehm, I really don’t think we really need a full month, Sherlock. Would you consider bringing it forward?”

Sherlock looked away, indifferent. “As you wish. But that will be the end of it.” He let it sit for a bit, making sure that Hiccup – and by association, Bethany – had registered the implication. “I will see her after dinner.”

\--oOo-- 

Sitting in the hut that evening, Bethany picked at the bread and cheese that made up her dinner, worried about what the confrontation would bring. This could conceivably be her last meal if things went wrong tonight. It was a sobering thought and she ended up leaving her food and thinking about what she was going to say instead. By the time Hiccup came to get her she was as outwardly calm and determined as she was ever going to be, although inside she was shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah OK I'm going to be a tease now and leave it here for today. Apologies for the hiatus in posting - I was stuck in a lovely little cabin in the woods without WiFi. However I did have my laptop and there is rather a lot of prose waiting to be posted!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany makes a heartfelt apology.

“Well?”

It didn’t matter that she had prepared words in her head. As soon as Sherlock’s eyes focused on her Bethany lost the ability to speak, all the pain and hurt of being ignored in the last three weeks dissipating at the fact that he finally, devastatingly, acknowledged her. She sat, kneeling in front of him, blinking as his cold eyes cut through her, and the only thing she could feel was pure joy that she was, if only for a moment, once more a person to him. Then she smiled as every shred of fear left her and she felt a deep and total calm. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, and she found it easy to find the words now.

“Master Sherlock, Sir, I have come to apologise. What I did was selfish and stupid and very short-sighted. I cannot give you an excuse, but I would like to offer you my apology and beg you for forgiveness.”

Sherlock stared at her for a second, then he turned to Hiccup, rolling his eyes. “Really, Hiccup? You’ve been teaching her a speech by rote? That’s below you.”

Hiccup was grinning, lifting his hands. “No, I swear, Sherlock. I’ve not told her what to say. That’s all her own words.”

Sherlock focused back on Bethany. “I could kill you here and now and have this whole sorry thing over with.”

She looked to the floor. “Sir, I would understand if you decide to do that,” she said quietly, then looked back to him. “I did commit three capital offenses, Sir. I know that. But I would consider it a waste of my life.”

Sherlock looked at her a moment in disbelief, then narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion. He got down to her level and examined her, lifting first one eyelid and then the next, sniffing her breath. Bethany took a moment to work out what he was doing while Hiccup was suppressing a giggle behind her. “She’s not drugged, Sherlock, that really would be below me. I haven’t done anything to her. I’ve just had three weeks to talk with her.”

Sherlock slowly slid backwards into his seat, never taking his eyes of Bethany. “You don’t say.”

He was quiet for some time, considering his approach. Then he leant forward. “Fine. Let’s just for the moment assume I accept your apology and let you live. I then force myself upon you, here, now, and take you until you are bruised and battered and begging for mercy, and then I do it again, and again, and again.” He studied her reaction closely. Behind Bethany, Hiccup swallowed audibly and said, “Ehm, Sherlock...” Sherlock merely lifted his hand, signalling him to be quiet.

Bethany took a moment to find a response to this, not least because a tiny part of her could not help but wonder what that would be like, to have his body on hers and inside her, to have him possess her like that, and the mental image caused an unfamiliar and altogether distracting sensation in her body. She hoped it was not showing on her face when she answered, “That would be your entitlement, Sir.”

Sherlock gave her an incredulous look, although he did not lose his focus on her. “Brave words. I wonder if you would be quite so brave in practice.” He thought a moment, then said, quite seriously, as if that settled it, “I will give you fifty more lashes, just for good measure.”

She closed her eyes. If that was the way to win back her right to live, and – hope beyond hope –  to stay here, it was a small price to pay even though the thought of reliving that ordeal terrified her. Her voice was not entirely steady when she answered. “It will take me some days to recover, Sir.”

He was watching her, fascinated. “Remarkable.” He was quiet for quite some time, studying her, then fired off another question. “What if I just took you home? Forget about everything that’s happened, do the right thing, give you back to your family? We know where you came from.”

She looked at him in some horror. “Sir, I would be married to my second cousin within six months, and he’s...” _nothing like you,_ she thought, and the depth of feeling shook her so much she lost track of her sentence. “...vile, Sir,” she finished quietly and a bit vaguely. She was getting drained. Sherlock was watching her every move, evaluating her answers and what was behind them, and she didn’t have the skill to second-guess him, to know when he was serious and when he wasn't. Her emotions were playing tricks on her and she wasn’t even sure she was giving the right answers. Sherlock sat back in his chair, steepling his hands under his bottom lip, fingertips touching, thinking.

“I’ll let you go to Berk with Hiccup once he’s finished here.”

She knew it was a test, of course it was, but she had nothing left but honesty. She looked at him with a sense of finality, wondering vaguely if death would be swift or painful. “With respect, Sir, I would probably choose to go with Master Hiccup.”

He smiled at her then, a genuine, amused smile, sitting forward again. “As well you should. He’s been a lot kinder to you than I’ve ever been.” He looked at Hiccup. “Impressive. It appears I stand corrected. Maybe my methods are outdated after all.”

He stood up, apparently finished, and addressed Hiccup. “You may reinstate her in her bedroom. There will be no need for the chain.” Then he turned to Bethany. “Three meals a day, no prompting. There’s a pile of mending for you to get on with tomorrow.” She burst into tears. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

Sherlock shook his head, amused and only a little disdainful. “Never happier than with the truly mundane. But your real thanks should be directed to Master Hiccup. We will make sure that is addressed.” He left the room, leaving her to wonder what he meant.

Hiccup made light of it as he helped her to her feet. “Honestly, Bethany, I’m just glad you’re still alive. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I wasn’t sure this was going to work. You know I would never have forgiven myself if he’d just killed you on the spot.” She shook her head. “No Sir, that would never have been on your conscience. It would have been entirely my own fault.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is a tart. But a rather attractive one.

It rained for a week, and they were confined to the house and the workshops as the unseasonal weather lashed down, battering Bethany’s repairs, flooding the courtyard and filling up Sherlock’s well. Bethany busied herself in the house, happy with her new chance at life, getting stuck into the things that had been left for three weeks while she was effectively in exile. There was plenty to do and she swept, scrubbed, washed and mended with abandon. Every so often she would catch Sherlock watching her with a glint in his eye. She tried to ignore the flutters it caused in her underbelly, but it was harder to hide the blushing. He would invariably give her a knowing smile, and return to whatever he was occupied with. It gave her the jitters and she couldn’t make sense of her feelings.

\--oOo-- 

When the sun returned to the island they were all grateful. The house had got stuffy during their week of confinement as she had been forced to dry the washing in front of the open fires with the windows closed, and Bethany opened the doors and windows to let in the fresh air. It suddenly felt like summer, with a promise of warmer weather and long days hanging in the air. The scraggly trees in the forest had burst into life and there were flowers scattered through the undergrowth, visited by the few hardy butterflies that were able to hang on in the inhospitable climate, and the bees that Sherlock kept at the side of the compound. She thought the island looked idyllic as she looked through the gate while hanging the washing in the afternoon sun.

Sherlock was in the courtyard working on a new piece of wooden guttering for his water collector. He was standing by a bench that he had put up in the sunshine, sleeves rolled up, working the wood with a deep chisel in slow, even strokes, running his hands over the areas he’d worked to make sure they were smooth. He looked focused and Bethany thought he had not noticed her, so she spent a moment watching him, admiring his skill and fighting off the mental image of those long, beautiful hands caressing her instead.

He looked up suddenly, catching her eye. It took him only a moment to register her slightly glazed look, and he grinned. She swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed, but before she could get herself together enough to back away he had come over to her, taking her hand. “She wonders, she wonders,” he said with a smile. Bethany looked up at him uncomprehending as he lifted her arm and twirled her around like a dancer. She came to a stop facing him, looking up at him in mild shock. He stroked her face almost absent-mindedly with his fingertips, studying her. “She wonders why it is that with my fearsome reputation for womanising and conquest across the archipelago, I have not yet taken advantage of such an _easy_ opportunity?” She swallowed. It was exactly what had been on her mind much, lately. He grinned as he saw he had scored a point and bent a little closer. She was finding it difficult to breathe. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper, gently running his fingers across her cheek and onto her mouth, resting them there. “Why have I not yet come into your room at night, and simply taken what I am rightfully entitled to?” She was looking at him, wide eyed, unable to speak, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him, by the touch of his fingertips on her lips. He snapped her out of her reverie by giving her another twirl, chuckling quietly at her confusion. “Is it because you are not attractive enough?” She looked away as she stopped in front of him again. It was something that had occurred to her, and she did not want to see it confirmed. He gently lifted her chin so she had to look him in the eye. “I assure you that that is not the case,” he said with a smile.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out, and he grinned at her dazed expression, then became serious. “But maybe there is something wrong with me? Maybe I have sustained some grave injury in combat which means that I am no longer able to perform?” He regarded her with what would have been a very serious expression, if it hadn’t been for the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Unfortunately she was in no state to respond, and he took both her hands, looked her in the eye and said, mock-seriously, “Madam, I am very pleased to report that I suffer no physical ailments or impairments.” Despite her butterflies, despite this strange state of confusion he was creating in her, she nearly giggled but wasn’t sure her station allowed it. He smiled. “Laugh, girl. It’s not forbidden.”

She cast her eyes down but smiled, nervously. “I’m not sure what to say, Sir.”

Still holding both her hands he suddenly turned her around nimbly so that her back was facing him, his arms across her body pulling her gently into him. She gasped as he planted a slow, soft row of kisses on her neck, making her knees go weak and sending her emotions reeling. He said softly, “Would you like to know the answer?”

She couldn’t respond in any way. Her body sang to his kisses and this new feeling took over her world to the exclusion of both thought and speech. It felt like drowning. He slowly turned her around again so she was facing him. “Well, Bethany?”

She forced herself to look at him, to pretend he wasn’t having as much of an effect on her. He was looking at her patiently, smiling slightly, watching her reactions. It was clear that he was reading her like an open book, and she looked down again, blushing. “Y... Yes Sir. I would like to know.”

He leant close to her, his lips almost touching her ear. “Because I know,” he said softly, “that given enough time, _you_ will come to _me_.”

Her knees nearly buckled. She looked at him with open mouth as he stepped back, still smiling at her. “You know where I sleep, Bethany,” he said before giving her a little bow, turning around and walking off to the workshop, leaving her standing in the middle of the courtyard in utter confusion.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup attempts to be helpful.

Hiccup came and found her in the kitchen, where she was spending a lot of time dropping things on the floor and not a lot of time cooking dinner. He watched with no little concern. “Ehm, Bethany? I saw Sherlock was having a silly game before. Are you OK?”

Bethany looked at him, helpless. “I...” She dropped her knife on the floor again. It narrowly missed her foot and landed point first in the floorboards with a loud _thud_. “Sir, I cannot think straight whenever he gets near me. He gets me all confused and muddled and he makes me feel...” She waved her hands in the air, unable to find the words for this new experience. “Weird.”

Hiccup stared at her, waiting for her to reach the obvious conclusion. When she didn’t, he said, “Ehm, I’m no expert in this, Bethany, but have you considered you might be falling in love with him? He’s an impressive bloke, he’s been nice to you recently, you know, he’s single. I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

She looked at him in horror. “No...” she shook her head. “No, Sir, I know what love is. I love my parents and my sister and brothers, and it is hugs and laughter and sharing fun times together. When I look at Master Sherlock I feel like I’m dropping off a cliff. It’s not the same emotion, Sir.”

Hiccup blinked, not quite sure he could believe she was serious. He was also starting to regret having this conversation. It really wasn’t his strongest area. “Ehhhhm... Right. Have you actually ever _been_ in love before, Bethany? As in, you know, actual physical love for somebody that is not a member of your family? Someone from outside?”

She looked worried. “Is it different, Sir?”

He saw his way out. “Yes, Bethany. It’s different. Very different.”

Before she could ask how it might be different he was out of the kitchen. _If Sherlock is going to pursue this_ , he thought, _she’s in for a shock_.

\--oOo-- 

When Hiccup got to the study that evening Sherlock was deeply immersed in a book. Hiccup sat down on his seat by the window and took out a small piece of wood that he had been working on. It was going to be a dragon, and he was pleased with its progress. He started carving carefully, hoping to catch Sherlock’s attention at some point. When half an hour had gone by without Sherlock as much as registering his presence, he took matters into his own hands. “Uhm, Sherlock.”

Sherlock detached himself from his book and focused on him. “Yes?”

“Eh...” Now that he had Sherlock’s attention, this suddenly seemed awkward.

Sherlock frowned. “Spit it out, boy. You’re not usually shy.”

Hiccup sighed. “It’s about Bethany.”

The frown didn’t leave Sherlock’s face. “The girl? What about her?”

“She’s...” He stopped, then started the sentence again, treading very carefully indeed. “I know this is none of my business, but I believe you may have an, ehm, personal interest in her.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He was not used to being questioned on his personal affairs, and certainly not by visitors. “You are correct. It is none of your business.”

Hiccup sighed again. Sherlock was going to make this as awkward as he possibly could. He decided to cut to the chase. “I just wanted to say, she’s inexperienced. I don’t know if you realise quite how inexperienced she is.”

Sherlock gave a short, amused laugh. “And you’ve come to tell me this _now_? When she’s been with us for nearly _three months_? I assure you I have been fully aware of this since the second day she was on the Storm Petrel, Hiccup. Your concern is noted, however.”

Hiccup felt pretty stupid. “Oh. Well, in that case, you obviously know what you’re doing. I’m, eh, I’m sorry I raised it.”

Sherlock smiled at his obvious concern for the girl. “I’m not going to hurt her, Hiccup, or force her. I’ve done plenty of that in the past. In this case I need her to come to me, and willingly so.” He thought about it a moment, remembering the afternoon. “And I do believe that will happen sooner rather than later.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany has a new experience.

She lasted less than a week. Five days she spent bumbling about the house and the compound, trying to make sense of her feelings, baulking against Hiccup’s assertions, and attempting to avoid Sherlock as much as she could. Her work was erratic at best, and she began to worry that she was in for a telling off if she carried on this way. Every time she saw Sherlock she had to fight the memory of him touching her, the feeling of her body pressed into his, his kisses on her neck. It was clear he knew it from the way he regarded her with open amusement every time she caught his eye. On the evening of the fifth day she gave up.

The men had gone to bed and Bethany lay in her own little room, staring at the ceiling. There was nowhere to hide from the feelings in her body and the confused thoughts in her mind without the distractions of the day, and she attempted to find sleep with not the least sign of success. Eventually she sat up, desperate for the tumult of emotions to die down, and made up her mind. Not knowing quite what to do she got dressed, but it took some willpower to get up and leave her room – something that she had never done before here, something that had, until very recently, been impossible.

She padded softly along the dark hallway, glad she wasn’t making any sound, glad she could change her mind at any moment. When she got to Sherlock’s door she stopped and looked at it in trepidation. What lay beyond she could not fathom – she only had a vague idea of what might happen should she enter, and her only experience to date was nothing she cared to repeat. Her dad’s friend had been drunk, and rough, and when he had forced himself upon her it had been painful and brief. She had been left feeling disgusting and disposable and she’d made her own way back home, washed herself and put herself to bed. She hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone. _Apart from Sherlock_ , she thought. He’d known just by looking at her.

For an eternity she stood studying the grain of the wood of the door, trying to build up the courage to knock. In the end fear got the better of her. She breathed a defeated sigh and made to go, as from the other side of the door, Sherlock’s deep voice came, calm. “It’s open, Bethany.”

She froze, panic rising. Her fate suddenly became inevitable, crystallised out by his knowledge of her presence. For a split second she considered running back but realised it was never an option. She stood a moment in near-paralysis, then closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open.

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock was sitting in a comfortable chair in a corner of the room, watching her as she came in. He had been reading by the light of an oil lamp, but now he put down the book to give her his full attention. He looked relaxed, dressed in his customary black breeches and white tunic, tousled hair just falling onto his face as he’d looked up at her with his clear eyes. “Well, well,” he said, quite serious, looking her over. “Welcome to my parlour.”

She didn’t need to finish the nursery rhyme to understand that she might have put herself in harm’s way, and she swallowed. It took courage to walk the last few steps into the room and kneel down in front of him, delivering herself into his web, praying that he would be gentle with her as she looked at the floor and waited for what came next.

Sherlock got up and closed the door behind her. Then he walked back to her, reached out his hand and helped her up. She stood looking at him, trembling slightly as he smiled at her. “That was brave, Bethany. Brave, and a little bit stupid. I’m a dangerous man.”

She swallowed and looked down. “Sir, you have had every opportunity to harm me, and yet you have not. I trust you will not do so now.”

His smile broadened. “Well, let us find out.” He lifted her chin and she looked at him, and for one clear instant it was obvious to her that he was toying with her, that she was caught in a cat-and-mouse game that she could not begin to understand the dimensions of. She realised she was way out of her depth, and then he kissed her and her whole world disintegrated.

\--oOo-- 

The kiss was long and slow and in itself would have been almost too much for her to deal with, but as he was kissing her he ran his hands underneath her blouse, soft fingertips running over her back and stomach. When he reached the underside of her breasts she broke off the kiss and looked at him, gasping. Sherlock grinned, and, holding her eye, pulled her blouse over her head in one easy move. Her hands were still trapped in the fabric of her sleeves and he held them above her head with one hand, slowly stroking her body with the other. She was having difficulty keeping any kind of focus as a million new sensations ran through her. She wasn’t sure what she had expected but it wasn’t this, this seemingly total overwhelming of her senses. Just when she thought she could not possibly feel anything more he leaned down and began to kiss her right breast, slowly working his way down towards her nipple, and when he got there he ran his tongue around it. She let out an unearthly noise.

Sherlock straightened up and looked at her as she stood there, quite incoherent and breathing heavily. With a satisfied smile he pulled the shirt from her arms and threw it aside, then continued his exploration of her body. He ran both his hands over her breasts and she responded to his light touch as if it was electricity, shuddering as he gently and slowly passed his fingertips over her nipples. He worked his way down with his hands, stroking her stomach until he came to the buttons of her skirt. He undid the top two and pulled downwards, going down on one knee as he did so. Her skirt came off and she stood naked in a puddle of fabric, looking down on his black curly hair, wondering vaguely where this was going.

He gently held her hips and pulled her towards him as he began to kiss her stomach slowly, setting off a million butterflies with every touch. Gradually his kisses and his hands travelled downwards until he was stroking her buttocks and kissing her mound. When he came to her sex he placed a single gentle kiss on her clit.

She gasped loudly as the sensation cut through her. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor in a daze, almost falling on top of Sherlock who quickly caught her. He looked at her in amused surprise. “Well, that’s no good.”

She blinked at him. “I’m... I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t know what happened.”

He looked at her searchingly for only a moment. Suddenly his face changed to delighted disbelief. “Oh, it’s Yuletide. You really don’t know what happened. You’ve never actually touched yourself, have you, Bethany?”

She looked confused. “I don’t know...”

“...what you mean,” he finished her sentence for her, incredulous. Then he chuckled. “This is delightful. Wait here.”

Sherlock walked over to a chest at the back of the room and started to rummage around in it. He threw out a few things Bethany could not fathom the use of, and then surfaced with a set of simple, flat leather loops connected by a piece of chain. She looked at them with trepidation as he walked over and hung them through a loop in the ceiling and made her stand up.

“Trust me, Bethany. I’m not tying you up. You can get out of these any time you want.” He demonstrated. “They are simply going to stop you collapsing on top of me, and allow me to have a little fun.”

She passively let him slip her hands through the cuffs, apprehensive. They weren’t tight, but she had to stretch a little to get her feet flat on the ground. As she was looking up, wondering if she would be able to get out so easily, Sherlock ran his fingers along her body and she shuddered to his touch, the feeling amplified by the tightness of her skin and her exposed position. She looked back at him, gasping, any thoughts of escape evaporated. He smiled. “Where were we?”

He made his way down again, kissing her stomach as he went, running his hands alongside. She closed her eyes and moaned as he came to her clit and started kissing her ever so gently, his hands slowly making their way onto her buttocks. She was breathing heavily, overtaken by the sensations that he was creating in her body, not fully aware of her surroundings anymore. As he gradually increased the pressure of his kisses her knees gave in but she held onto the straps of the cuffs as if her life depended on it, her weight hanging off her arms as slowly Sherlock moved his right hand further down around the curve of her buttock and between her legs. She was wet and ripe and he entered her with a long finger, eliciting heavy gasps as he went, slowly pushing into her deeply. Then he hummed, and ran his tongue over her clit.

She exploded into orgasm moaning, her body rocking uncontrollably as he held her tightly, slowly moving his hand as her contractions gripped him, kissing her clit every time it seemed she was spent. By the end of it she was begging for him to stop, exhausted, confused, and he slowly withdrew his hand, causing a few final shudders. Then he stood up and kissed her. “Well, that was spectacular.”

She looked back at him, uncomprehending, her body slowly returning to normal. He smiled and undid one of her hands, catching her before she could collapse as the cuff ran through the ring, releasing her other arm. Then he half-dragged her to the bed and made her sit down. She stared at him, dazed. “I thought I was going to die, Sir.”

He shook his head, still amused. “You need a book.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In with Bethany learns more new things, some of which are not comfortable in any way.

To her surprise there was a book. Sherlock sat with her in private the next morning, talking her through images that looked like they had been drawn for a doctor, explaining the workings of her own body, what had happened last night, why she bled every month, how a child grew and was born. The letters in this book were nothing like the runes she had been practising and she could make no sense of them, so she asked polite questions and wondered at his depth of knowledge as he answered. She swept the house deep in thought that day, moving dust from one part of the rooms to another but not really achieving anything. Sherlock let it slide – he was in far too good a mood to pick her up on it. Hiccup watched her with some concern but asked no questions.

\--oOo-- 

It took her a few days to pluck up the courage to go to him again. The first experience had blown her mind, and something told her that he had gone easy on her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for more and she was worried that she was being played in some game she didn’t understand. At night she explored her own body and found that it responded much the same way as he had described, but not with the same intensity as she had reacted to his touch. Eventually, it became impossible to ignore the aching in her body every time she looked at him, and the heat in her underbelly when he caught her eye and returned her dazed look with a knowing smile. On the evening of the fourth day she waited for the house to go silent, then nervously made her way to Sherlock’s room. She only hesitated a moment before she knocked and waited. His deep voice came quietly. “In you come, Bethany.” She swallowed and entered, closing the door behind her.

He got up as she came in and walked over to her, watching her closely. “So, she returns,” he said quietly, amused. “I must have done something right.” She looked away from him, once more feeling out of her depth, wondering why he was playing this game when he could so easily force himself upon her anytime he wished to. He lifted her chin and made her look at him as he smiled. “You didn’t come here for _answers_ , did you, Bethany?” he said, running his hand from her chin along her throat, over her metal collar and onto her chest, studying her. “I believe you came here to forget the questions.”

He led her to the large four-poster bed that stood at the back of the room and she followed him quietly, wondering about his comment. The bed was an unusual thing to her – beds in her village were simple bunks built into the walls, cosy and warm during the harsh winters. This was a thing of extravagance, the posts carved elaborately with vines and flowers and strange creatures ogling her, the expanse of it large and luxurious. She had often wondered where it came from when she cleaned the room, and cursed it silently whenever she had to wrestle with the bed sheets when making it. She eyed it apprehensively. Sherlock chuckled. “It’s not going to eat you.”

Before she knew what was happening he had picked her up and thrown her onto the bed, following swiftly after her, pinning her down by the wrists with his left hand and straddling one of her legs, moving her skirt up with his knee. She looked up at him in shock and he grinned down on her, then proceeded to kiss her throat and neck, placing quick bites every so often as he went, running his hand over the fabric of her blouse across her breast and along her waist towards her skirt, then onto her exposed leg. She gasped and struggled, trying to make sense of the sensations that suddenly overwhelmed her, the tiny nips of pain on her neck mingling with the vulnerability of being immobilised, the weight of him holding her down, his strong hand on her wrists and the softness of his kisses and touch, and battling with the realisation that the end result was pure and intense pleasure. It didn’t seem right. She should be frightened.

He stopped and looked at her, grinning at her obvious conflict. “Alternatively,” he said, “you could just accept what is happening and enjoy it.” He ran his right hand over her nipple, pinching it gently through the fabric of her blouse, rubbing his thumb over it. The intense sensation went straight to her crotch. She closed her eyes and moaned, giving in to him and allowing it to wash over her, relaxing into whatever he chose to do. “Good,” he said, his hand moving to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them with easy, practiced movements, opening the fabric and exposing her breasts. He cupped one in his right hand and stroked it for a moment, eliciting shudders from Bethany. Then he began to kiss it, slowly working towards her nipple as his hand moved back onto her leg, moving up under her skirt until he came to her sex. He hummed with approval when he found she was not wearing any underwear; in a moment of practicality she had decided there was no point.

There was very little time to feel smug about surprising him, though. As soon as he realised she was exposed he slid his hand inside her, first one finger, then two, at the same time reaching her nipple with his mouth. The feeling of him stretching her on his hand was almost overwhelmed by the sensation of him running his tongue around her nipple, occasionally flicking it, holding it solidly between his lips and pulling gently at other times. She was barely aware of him moving his hand into and out of her her slowly, pressing the palm against her clit every time he pushed deep inside her, running her juices across when he pulled back out. All the sensations blended into one overwhelming surge of feeling and she bucked against him involuntarily, her body searching for more, finding the small bit of freedom in her constrained position. He simply shifted his weight a little, leaning onto her with his body and spreading her legs with his knee at the same time, leaving her almost entirely immobilised and very much more exposed. He increased his rhythm then, moving in and out of her with deliberate strokes, rubbing her clit on every passage. She was moaning uncontrollably now, no longer aware of much more than the feeling of him taking over her body, controlling her reactions and playing her like an instrument until she felt like she might explode. Just when she thought she could take no more he changed his rhythm, suddenly going slow, and deep, and she gasped as she could sense the beginning of her orgasm. At the same moment he gently bit down on her nipple with his teeth.

The pain shot through her like an arrow, mingling with all the other sensations in her body and she dissolved into orgasm, screaming, bucking against Sherlock’s weight, no longer knowing which way was up or down, or in fact the meaning of pleasure and pain. It was all one, and she rode out the waves, encouraged on by his continued ministrations until she was gasping with exhaustion.

\--oOo-- 

He buttoned her back up when he was satisfied she was finished, softly stroking her body as he went, and then left her lying on the bed, staring into nothingness, while he returned to his chair to read. After a very long time she had gathered enough coherent thoughts to turn and look at him. He met her eye. “Well?”

She pondered him a while, and then said, “That should not have been pleasurable, Sir.”

He briefly raised his eyebrows, dismissive. “That’s not what your body was telling me.”

She had questions, so many questions, but she feared that the answers she might get would only make her feel more uncomfortable, or that she might anger him. She looked back up at the canopy of the bed and saw for the first time that it was embroidered to look like the night sky, covered in stars. To her surprise Sherlock answered part of her unspoken question regardless. She turned to the sound of his deep voice.

“We raided and pillaged villages like yours, Bethany. There are plenty of them scattered around the archipelago. Tiny communities with ten or twenty houses, some sheep, enough grain to feed five men for a winter. Sometimes the peasant men would fight and die, sometimes they would hide in their barns and houses and let us take what we wanted. The womenfolk were fair game to whomever could get their hands on them, and I won’t disgust you with stories of what we did to the unwilling ones. But there were others sometimes, often wives, or widows, sometimes girls like yourself, and they would be obvious, they would not even put the effort into hiding away, as if they wanted to be found. And you could see it in them, their tiny, caged lives, their dead futures, their desperate wish for something that would break the monotony of their dull existence, some tiny speck of adventure. They would come willingly even though they were scared, and they might put up the semblance of a struggle in order to justify what we did to them, and we would force them because that is what was expected, and then they would let it go like you just did and they would _fly_. Some of them came with us. I learned to look out for them.”

She thought about it for a long time. It didn’t seem all that far-fetched to her. She tried to suppress the mental image of him raping screaming victims; he didn’t need to describe anything to her for the thought to fill her with abject horror. “Did you hurt them, Sir?”

Sherlock looked in the distance, clearly revisiting some distant memory. He smiled a rather disconcerting smile, then grew serious again. “Only when they asked for it. Or when there were other indications that they might enjoy such a thing.”

It only served to confuse her more. She asked the only question that might help her make some sense of everything. “What am I doing here, Sir?”

Sherlock’s eyes shot to her, suddenly focused. It was clear he hadn’t expected the question. He got out of his chair and walked over, studying her for what felt like ages. She had just resigned herself that he wasn’t going to answer her at all when he said, “You are helping me with a project, Bethany.”

It didn’t really answer anything, but it confirmed her suspicion that she wasn’t just there for the cooking and ‘a bit of fun’. He practically shooed her out of his room after that and she went to bed with more questions than she’d started the evening with.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is music, and dancing.

Late spring turned into early summer over the next few weeks and the house fell into a new routine. Where Hiccup had previously spent quite some time in the evenings practising his writing and working his way through books that Sherlock felt were essential to his education, now the longer evenings meant they were spending more time outside. Their sparring sessions were spectacular and Bethany made sure she was able to watch the men honing their skills on the courtyard whenever Sherlock decided to call Hiccup out. It was an education in itself – Sherlock did not believe in using sparring swords, saying they dulled the fighter’s reactions and did not command the required respect, and so they fought with his razor-sharp rapiers, dancing around each other with care and extreme focus, and occasionally getting cut in the process. Bethany got quite used to patching either of them up. While Hiccup started out losing most of the fights he learned quickly, until he managed to force a few stalemates from Sherlock. “I’ll consider myself properly retired if you ever win, boy,” Sherlock panted after one of these, both fighters breathless after a fight that had gone on for a long time and covered most of the compound. Hiccup was extremely pleased with himself. “It’s only a matter of time, old man,” he grinned. Sherlock growled at him.

Every few evenings Bethany lost her own internal battle to stay away from Sherlock and ended up in his room. He joked about it, telling her she might as well give up pretending and sleep with him permanently, but it was blatantly clear he was playing with her as there was no sleep in any of this and he invariably sent her back to her room when they were finished. He was still exploring her body’s reactions, getting her to respond to him as he wished, stretching her levels of tolerance so she was able to last longer. There was something that was bothering her though, and she raised it with him on an evening where he had brought her to an explosive orgasm twice and she had nothing left in her to remain tactful. She was looking at the canopy again, studying the stars, wondering if they formed a real image of the firmament. Without thinking much she opened her mouth. “Sir, I’ve been wondering.”

Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading. It had become somewhat of a habit of him to allow her to recover for a little before sending her back to her room, but he had learned to expect decidedly left-of-centre questions. He gave her a wary “Yes?”

“When my dad’s friend... raped me,” Sherlock really was paying attention now. “He... he didn’t use his hands. He kind of just threw himself on top of me and, ehm...” She came to a sudden stop, realising that she might not want to finish the sentence.

Sherlock sighed, got up and walked over to her, looking at her deadpan. “He forced his yokel body onto yours and penetrated you in a brutish fashion with his erect member. Is that what you were trying to say?”

She blinked at him. “Something like that, yes, Sir.”

He regarded her with amusement. “Your point, Bethany?”

She looked everywhere but at him. “Ehm, you don’t, Sir. Or at least, you haven’t.”

He smiled, quite enjoying winding her up. It was crystal clear where this was going. “I do not have a yokel body to throw at you.”

She had to giggle despite her embarrassment. For a change she had seen through his baiting, although it had been obvious. She looked at him directly. “Would you, Sir?”

He grew serious. “Do you want me to, Bethany? It is a different experience.”

She considered this a moment, then nodded at him, quite sincere. “Yes, Sir. I believe I do.”

He looked thoughtful and maybe a little sad when he touched her face, studying her as he sometimes did. “I will consider it. Thank you.”

\--oOo-- 

The week that followed was Midsummer, and Sherlock declared they would observe the traditional festivities on the day. Bethany began to make preparations for a feast, but Hiccup became moody. Sherlock picked him up on it over dinner. “Grumpy about Midsummer, boy? That’s most unlike you.”

Hiccup harrumphed. “No, it’s not. I can’t remember the last Midsummer I actually stayed at home. I hate it.”

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow. Hiccup sulked a little, then gave in with a sigh. He raised his metal leg. “It’s the dancing. I’m alright walking and running, and on a dragon, even fighting, but this thing...” He put down his foot and waved his hands in the air. “It makes me clumsy. I haven’t danced since the accident.”

Sherlock looked at Bethany, who was standing in the corner to serve. “Do you dance, girl?”

Bethany nodded. She loved dancing. Midsummer was her favourite day and she had been very excited to hear they would be celebrating it.

“Well then,” Sherlock said, “We shall practice.” Hiccup looked horrified, but Sherlock scolded him. “Just remember that when you are chief, running away from official celebrations will no longer be an option, Hiccup. You’ll be leading them, with your good lady. And I should imagine she enjoys a dance.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes she does, Astrid. She never lets me hear the end of it.” He crossed his arms and looked at the table, looking miserable. “Fine.”

\--oOo-- 

In the evening Sherlock got out the string instrument that he had played on the Storm Petrel. He let Bethany take a look at it, because she had never seen anything like it. “It’s called a violin. I brought it with me when I came here.” He didn’t elaborate when that was, or where he had travelled from. She thought it looked very strange, nothing like the simple instruments that were sometimes played in her village – wooden flutes and bone whistles, and the small lute that the village scribe brought out on festive days and had such problems keeping in tune. This instrument was beautifully shaped, shiny and delicate. She looked at it with reverence.

Sherlock put it to his chin and started to play. It was only a simple round, but the ethereal sound of the violin lifted the little song to a whole different level and Bethany clapped her hands in delight. In contrast, Hiccup stood in the corner of the study with his arms crossed, looking surly. Sherlock called him over. “Take the lady’s hand. We’ll start slow.”

Reluctantly, Hiccup took Bethany’s hand and bowed with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. “Milady, would you like this unfortunate dance?” She giggled. “Certainly, Sir.”

The dance was slow and steady. It was clear that Hiccup struggled more with confidence than with actual skill; while his balance on his left leg was not perfect, he more than got by. Hiccup himself was less than impressed, though. After the dance finished he threw his hands in the air. “There. I told you I was rubbish. There’s no point, Sherlock.” He started to walk off.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You seem quite able to get by with a rapier in your hand, parrying backwards. The only difference is a bit of rhythm.”

Hiccup scowled. “That’s not the same.” Instead of arguing, Sherlock picked up the violin and commenced another piece, much faster this time. Hiccup stared at Bethany and mouthed “ _No way_ ”. It made her smile and she held out her hand, daring him to take it. He hesitated a moment, and then with a determined look on his face took it.

They danced. With the speed of the jig there was very little chance to think, and after a few missteps both Bethany and Hiccup found their rhythm. He didn’t have time to worry about his balance and found that in time his mismatched feet sorted themselves out. On her part, Bethany kept an eye on him but saw soon enough that Sherlock was right. He was fine as long as he didn’t think about it.

At the end of the dance Sherlock increased the rhythm steadily. The two dancers were finding it harder and harder to keep up, and eventually Hiccup gave a whoop and jumped in the air. He landed badly, slipped on his metal leg and landed in a heap on the floor, dragging Bethany on top of him in a giggling heap. They lay, panting and laughing until Bethany remembered her manners and rolled off him, leaving Hiccup lying on his back, grinning. “Ah, that was great.” He looked backwards and upwards towards Sherlock, who was standing behind him. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

Sherlock had stopped playing and was looking down on the two young people lying on the floor, smiling. He nodded to Hiccup. “As I said. Stop overthinking it.” Then he looked at Bethany and raised an eyebrow. She quickly got back on her feet and brushed herself down, blushing, and said, “Thank you, Sir. That was fun.” Sherlock just nodded in acknowledgement.

Hiccup scrambled back on his feet, smiling, and said, “Well, that was excellent. Do you dance, Sherlock?” Sherlock nodded and produced a small whistle from a pocket, offering it to Hiccup. “Do you play?”

Hiccup took the little instrument and looked at it, turning it around in his hands. “I’ve played something like it.” He winked at Bethany before he put it to his lips. “Not promising anything.”

To his own surprise he managed to produce a passable tune from the little whistle. He practised a minute and then turned to Sherlock. “Yep, I think I’ll manage.”

Sherlock turned to Bethany and bowed slightly, taking her hand. “New dance.”

The dance that Sherlock showed her was different from the country dances that she had grown up with. It was elegant and quick and slightly formal and she thought it suited him. She picked it up easily enough to start with, always having had a natural talent for dance, but he added elements as she learned so that by the end of their practice it had become a complicated pattern of movements. Hiccup complied with the requests for repeats and speed changes until Sherlock was satisfied. Then he called the dance.

To Bethany, the contrast between the two experiences couldn’t be greater. As a dance partner Hiccup was fun, easy and boisterous, and the dance became a fast and quite silly thing. Sherlock was almost the opposite – he took a strong lead and was much more controlling, but she found she met his more demanding style by increasing her own focus and as a result danced better. It was quite remarkable, and she would have found it hard to say which she enjoyed more. When they finished Sherlock bowed again and kissed her hand lightly. “Thank you, madam. I enjoyed that.” She smiled delightedly, not sure how to react to that. In response he gave her a last twirl, then let her go. “Enough fun for one day, children. Bedtime.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which thankfully nobody gets hurt.

Bethany thought long and hard about going to Sherlock’s room that night. The dancing had left her elated but tired, and she also wondered if Sherlock had intended there to be a subtle hint in his last remark. But she found it hard to settle, and after fruitlessly trying to get to sleep for a while she got up and walked over to his room. He could always tell her to go away if he didn’t want her there.

She knocked, and a moment later Sherlock answered quietly. “It’s open.” She let herself in, closing the door behind her. The room was in almost darkness, and it took her a moment to realise that Sherlock was lying on his bed, fully dressed, staring at the canopy. She hesitated. “I can leave if you want me to, Sir.”

He looked over to her without raising his head off the pillow. “I know you can.” He raised a long hand and waved her over.

She carefully walked over to the bed, nervous and a little concerned. He seemed in an odd mood, and she felt a knot forming in her stomach. When she got to the bed she wasn’t sure what to do. Sherlock had gone back to staring at the stars. “Are you OK, Sir?”

He waved his hand in the air. “Yes, no, who knows. Who cares, in fact.” He let his hand flop behind his head and let out a long sigh.

She took a step back. He was properly frightening her now. “I will leave you, Sir.”

He moved like a cat, reaching sideways to grab her wrist with a long arm and turning to sit on the edge of the bed at the same time, dragging her to him so she ended up standing between his legs. She gasped. “Sir, you’re scaring me.”

He looked at her a moment in a detached manner. Then he appeared to refocus, and frowned. “Yes. Yes I am. My apologies, Bethany.” He let go of her wrist. “You are quite right. It is probably not safe for you here tonight.”

She looked at him, full of concern, forgetting to back away. “Is there anything I can do, Sir?”

Sherlock looked back at her, and she thought he looked intensely sad. He stroked her face gently. “Quite brave,” he said, “and a little bit stupid.” He sighed. “Off you go, Bethany, before I do something I might regret later.”

She left him, trying not to run. He’d given her the jitters badly and she stumbled back to her own room and into her bed, which suddenly didn’t feel so safe anymore. After a short while she heard his door go, and for one terrifying moment she thought he had followed her and was about to enter her bedroom, to do Freya only knew what to her. But Sherlock’s footsteps went the other way, and she heard the front door open instead.

\--oOo-- 

She swore to herself she would stay in her room and keep out of trouble, but it wasn’t long before her curiosity got the better of her. Cursing her own restless nature and, as Sherlock had pointed out, slight stupidity, she got up and left her room, trying to find where he had gone. Peeking out of the front door she saw that one of the outbuildings was lit, and she could not stop herself from creeping across the courtyard to see what was going on. If she stood on tiptoe by one of the high windows she could peer in and she did so carefully, making sure she kept in the shadows.

The sight she encountered was terrifying and fascinating in equal measure. Sherlock was in a near-empty workshop which was dimly lit, swinging two rapiers at a sandbag that was suspended from the ceiling. He was attacking the thing in a rage, cutting and thrusting with brutal and deathly force, but at the same time displaying a level of focus and skill that she had not witnessed before. It was clear that his sparring sessions with Hiccup had been just that – games, an education, but nothing like what he was actually capable of when the kid gloves came off and he let go. She watched in morbid fascination, forgetting about being seen as she was drawn into watching his rage unleashed, confirming that the stories were probably all true, and realising that he had very much saved her from himself tonight. He fought the bag as if his life depended on it, and she shuddered as he finally raised the rapiers above his head and brought them down cross-wise in two great sweeping arcs, cutting the sandbag clean in two. The thing emptied its contents on the floor in a neat heap and Sherlock looked at it for a moment, then visibly relaxed, dropping his arms by his sides. He was sweating and out of breath as he looked up, straight at the window where Bethany was standing, catching her eye with a feral look.

She froze, not knowing what kind of trouble she had got herself into. There was no point in running. Sherlock glowered at her, mouthing the words “brave” and what looked like “fucking stupid”, and then pointing a rapier at her and mouthing “wait.” She waited in trepidation as he made his way out by the side door and walked over to where she stood.

He was still panting when he got to her. “Honestly, Bethany,” he growled, “I am trying to protect you. But I cannot keep you safe,” He thrust one of the rapiers into the ground at her feet, where it stood singing, “if you insist on putting yourself in harm’s way,” He jabbed the second sword into the ground with force, about half an inch from her feet, “at every _fucking_ opportunity.” She let out a small, frightened yelp, clutching her hands to her face while he continued scowling at her.

When it became clear that he was not going to do or say anything else but was waiting for a response, she put her hands down a little. “I’m sorry, Sir, I was... concerned,” she said in a small voice. It seemed like a silly thing to say. It was more than apparent that he was extremely capable of looking after himself. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he relaxed his stance somewhat. He considered her a while, and then sighed. “I appreciate your concern, Bethany. But I wasn’t joking when I said I’m a dangerous man. It is for your own safety if I tell you to stay away.”

She nodded. “I understand, Sir. I’m sorry.” There was nothing much else to say. _I didn’t know_ really didn’t cut it – she knew full well what he was capable of. _I was stupid_ was far too obvious. _I wanted to help_ just sounded hopelessly naive. She stared at her bare feet, and at the sharp blades standing far too close to them. Without thinking, she said, “I believe you killed the sandbag, Sir.”

She didn’t know what he might say in response, but she certainly hadn’t expected to hear him chuckling. She looked up, surprised. Sherlock was looking at her, quietly laughing, shaking his head. “Yes, I do believe I did.” With an easy movement he pulled both blades from the ground, tucked them under his arm and took her hand. “Come on, it’s late. You can make me a new one tomorrow.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much merriment.

The day of Midsummer dawned bright and clear, promising to be the first truly warm day of the year. Bethany was delighted. She’d put a lot of effort into the preparations and it meant they would be able to celebrate outside, as it was meant to be. Sherlock had given her permission to go into the woods in the morning and she managed to make herself a wreath of flowers for her hair. The men had taken the trestle table from the kitchen and taken it to the courtyard to set it in the shade, and she decorated it with more flowers, ready for the feast. Then she returned to the kitchen to roast the meat and prepare the grilled salmon, and to bake the fresh breads for the day. With the plentiful new eggs and the last of the spring butter that Sherlock had brought back from his trip to the markets she made a celebration loaf, which she plaited beautifully and baked to perfection. There was honey and fresh goat’s cheese, two different stews she had made the day before, and there were still some cured meats from winter. The new pickled herring was promising to be delicious, and in the corner she had a couple of large buckets full of fresh fish for Toothless. On top of it all, the vegetable plots had yielded the very first carrots, lettuce and strawberries, and looking at what she had prepared she realised there was enough there to feed a large family for a week. It was going to be a fine feast.

Before midday Bethany arranged her hair and proudly brought everything to the table. In addition to the foods there was ale, and Sherlock produced a bottle of mead and a bottle of fruit wine from his private store. He had dressed up for the occasion in his best white linen shirt and black breeches, and was wearing an ornate black, red and gold dress coat that looked nothing like Bethany had ever seen. Even Hiccup had made the effort, and although his clothes were considerably less extravagant and certainly showed no lace anywhere, he cut a smart figure in dark brown breeches and a cream linen shirt. Sherlock frowned at Bethany’s clothes as she stood in the courtyard. She was making do with what he had given her when she first arrived, but the clothes were all plain and practical and most of them were showing signs of considerable wear and tear. She had nothing that could be considered festive, and she had picked the best she had.

“It appears I have been remiss,” Sherlock said to her. “That, my dear, is not appropriate.”

She blushed. “It is all I have, Sir.”

“Yes. Follow me.”

He took her back into the house and into his bedroom, and opened one of the wardrobes. She was surprised to see there were several ladies’ dresses hanging in it, along with some beautifully layered skirts and flamboyant shirts. Sherlock ran his hand along them reverently and then picked out a dress that was more traditional, the kind of thing the women in her own village might wear at Midsummer, although this was of a quality few women in her village could hope to afford – a beautifully cut, dark blue long-sleeved woollen dress, covered by a muted green linen apron, the hem and straps embroidered with patterns of birds and dragons in brown and gold. The apron was decorated around the neck with elaborate chains of beadwork, fastened to the straps with bronze clasps.

She wondered who it had belonged to as Sherlock held it in front of her, and said, “This will do. I will have it back at the end of the festival.” He didn’t need to ask her to look after it. She was barely brave enough to take it. “Sir, I can’t. I daren’t. I might ruin it.”

He smiled at her. “Bethany, wear it. The person who these belonged to is long gone.” His smile widened a little as he recalled a memory. “She wouldn’t have cared anyway. Loki knows she ruined plenty herself.”

Bethany didn’t dare ask who the lady was that Sherlock referred to. Someone he cared for, clearly, and she wondered what happened to her. She took the dress with many words of thanks, and went to change.

\--oOo-- 

When she re-entered the courtyard feeling like a queen she was met with a nod of approval from Sherlock and a wolf whistle from Hiccup. She blushed, not sure what to do with being the centre of attention, and made her way to the table, looking a little lost. Sherlock shook his head. “I was going to give you the afternoon off, girl, but if it makes you feel more comfortable you may serve the meal. I do insist you eat with us today, though.”

They ate and drank, and Sherlock and Hiccup told tall tales, and Bethany was grateful for having a job to do, as without it she would not have been sure what she was meant to say or do. Internally she poked fun at herself; at home it had been so different, she’d been the life and soul of the party and had often taken a lead in the songs and games. Here Sherlock was proving what he had said to Hiccup on the ship when they first brought her here – she no longer believed she was on equal footing, and so she kept quiet, and served, and listened.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock picked her up on it. He was in an excellent mood, and said as he regarded her with amusement, “You dance far too well to keep quiet at parties, girl. I fear I have intimidated you into silence. Do you sing?” He passed her a glass of mead as he spoke. She eyed it cautiously before answering. Her dad had never allowed her anything stronger than the thin ale that was commonplace at most meals, saying that she’d only get into trouble. She nodded. “Yes Sir. I love to sing.”

He looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate or indeed start singing. Hiccup, at the other end of the table, was shaking his head and grinning, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Bethany, permission to sing a song. And please drink the damned mead, or you will have us both believe we’re attending a funeral.”

It finally spurred her into action. She downed the mead in one and instantly realised it was wonderful but much stronger than she’d appreciated. She looked at Sherlock as the warm glow of the drink spread through her. “That’s... beautiful, Sir.”

He eyed her with some disbelief. “I’m not sure what backward hole I’ve rescued you from, girl, but if nobody has ever fed you mead at Midsummer then I’m glad I did.” He refilled her glass. “Now sing us something.”

She stood up, considered the company, and, emboldened by the effects of the mead, began a song that her dad would not have approved of.

\--oOo-- 

They took turns singing after that. All three had good voices although they were all very different, and they joined in with the songs they knew and listened to others that they hadn’t heard. The songs became more risqué with every passing as each of them tried to outdo the other. Eventually Sherlock came out with a [song about goblins](https://community.dur.ac.uk/treasure.trap/songs/goblin_song.php) that had Bethany giggling uncontrollably and Hiccup turn bright red. When he finished Sherlock laughed and turned to Bethany. “I fear that in order to protect poor Master Hiccup’s sensitivities we must find something else to do. We will dance.”

Hiccup was glad to escape the singing. He had begun to worry that the joke was on him, and so he proposed a dance that would set Bethany a challenge as a dancer, and would certainly test Sherlock’s skill on the violin. Sherlock was more than happy to comply, and Hiccup led Bethany in a raucous dance that saw the two of them stomp about the courtyard in wild hops and twirls, followed by Toothless who had decided to join in with the fun excitedly. In the end it was Bethany who miss-stepped and went over, followed by Hiccup, and finally Toothless who thought it was part of the game to flop on top of both of them. There was much giggling and shouting before they finally got the dragon to move off.

When they had extracted themselves from under the dragon they returned to the table, Bethany nervously checking that the dress was in one piece, Hiccup still giggling. Sherlock poured more drinks, keeping to ale this time. “Enough falling over for a while. The night is still young.”

Hiccup pulled the little bone whistle from his pocket. “Your turn, Sherlock.”

Sherlock got up and bowed to Bethany, taking her hand. She thought he looked larger than life as she followed his lead onto the courtyard, and for a brief moment she wondered how she had ended up here, dancing with this man who looked like he had sailed in from another world. Then Hiccup started to play and the rhythm and focus of the dance took over. She danced with grace against his commanding lead and they flowed together, transforming the simple tune into a thing of beauty with their movements. While Bethany could not conceal her enjoyment and was dancing with a big smile, Sherlock maintained a serious countenance, but there was a glint in his eye whenever she looked at him that told her just how much he enjoyed this.

Hiccup tried to take his revenge in the end, though. Without warning he increased the speed of the tune in an attempt to elicit another collapse, but Sherlock refused to be drawn out. Instead of even trying to match the new rhythm he simply lifted Bethany by the waist and spun her around twice, putting her down with a bow at the end. She returned the bow with a big grin, while Hiccup shouted from the table, “Ah, that’s cheating! You could have had the decency to at least try!” In response Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at him, then took Bethany’s waist and drew her into a long, drawn-out kiss that left Hiccup gaping and Bethany wondering which way was up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the dirty goblin song. It's not period, clearly, and Hiccup and Bethany would not be able to understand the references to the Devil and Hell. Even so my guess pirate!Sherlock would have loved it. As do I.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is rather too much testosterone, we find out rather a lot of stuff about Sherlock, and Bethany wrestles with many things.

They built the bonfire after that. Although it was the longest day of the year, night was slowly falling and it was getting cooler, and Bethany made use of the opportunity to try and regain her composure a little. Hiccup had recovered quickly enough after accusing Sherlock of playing to the crowd, but she was now finding it hard to meet his eye. Sherlock clearly found this funny and in the end she escaped to the table for a bit and pretended to rearrange the food.

Hiccup came over to her. “Bethany, there’s no need to be embarrassed. You look good together, honestly.” He lowered his voice a little. “I just want to be sure he’s looking after you.”

She looked at his concerned face and thought he was just lovely. “He is, Sir. Thank you.”

“All this fuss over one little kiss,” Sherlock said, walking up to them. “It makes me wonder if you and your good lady have progressed beyond holding hands at all, Master Hiccup.”

Hiccup blushed involuntarily, but he squared up to Sherlock. “I’m not a child, Sherlock. You can stop baiting me. I know how to kiss a girl.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amused disdain. He was clearly enjoying this, and Bethany was beginning to feel very sorry for Hiccup. “Prove it.”

“What... No.” Hiccup bristled with righteous indignation.

Sherlock’s grin widened. “Thereby proving my point.”

The look that Hiccup gave him could have killed. Then he turned to Bethany, rolling his eyes. On her part, Bethany had been listening to the conversation with mounting disbelief, feeling like a pawn in some silly game. Hiccup regarded her kindly. “I’m sorry, Bethany. I’m going to have to shut him up.” She just managed to stammer, “no apology needed” before he took her face in both his hands and kissed her deeply and with intent. All sensible thought evaporated instantly as her world shrunk to the feeling of his gentle hands surrounding her face and his lips on hers.

She surfaced breathless and a little unstable when he gently ended the kiss, not entirely sure what just happened. Hiccup smiled at her confused face and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Bethany. I’m sorry,” he said, then gave Sherlock a little bow and walked back to the fire, leaving Bethany holding on to the table and Sherlock grinning at her. She was blushing furiously and couldn’t meet his eye, but he took her chin and turned her face to him, studying her a moment. She feared he might be angry. Instead, he smiled at her and just said, “Good.”

\--oOo-- 

They returned to the bonfire, taking three chairs, Bethany a muddle of confused thoughts and emotions. Sherlock brought the wine and glasses, and after the first few sips Bethany started to feel better. This was Midsummer after all, and many things happened on that night that would otherwise be out of bounds. She decided to let it pass, as Sherlock called stories. “One question each. I will answer as truthfully as I can if I decide to answer at all.”

Hiccup had a ready question, and one that Bethany had been aching to ask as well. “Alright, me first. I’ve been wondering about this for ages. Where are you from, Sherlock? You’re no Viking.”

Sherlock stretched his long legs and refilled their glasses. He was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then began to speak. “I was born in Britannia, many weeks south from here by ship. It is a rich country of green rolling hills and endless forests, warm summers and mild winters, and I grew up in a well-to-do family that had connections with royalty and the government. It was an easy and pampered existence with a direct route to a position of influence, and I was bored out of my skull.” He stopped, took a long sip from his glass and grinned at a distant memory. “I was a hell-raiser in my teenage years. Things got broken, expensive things, other people’s things. I got into endless brawls and spent many a night in the scout's gaol. A couple of  maids got pregnant, and after one particularly excessive drunken escapade that ended in a house fire dear Mama and Papa decided to protect their reputation and send me off to Denmark, to be educated at the court.” He chuckled.

“I never made it there. The ship got raided, and everyone on board got killed apart from me. I survived by fighting on the side of the pirates. Their captain was a fierce and heartless fellow by name of Redbeard, the kind of man to kill first and ask questions later. He took me on as his protégé.” He looked back at Hiccup. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

Hiccup laughed. “Wow. Brittanic royalty. Well, it explains the dancing.” He thought for a while. “What happened to Redbeard? I’ve not heard of him. I would have thought there might be stories.”

Sherlock contemplated him a moment. “That would have been before your time. We were operating further south, around the German and Danish coasts. There are rich pickings there.” He looked at the fire. “In any case, there was a mutiny, and I killed him and took over the ship. We went north after that.”

It was quiet around the fire for a long time. Bethany was wrestling with the mental images that Sherlock’s story had evoked, and wasn’t really brave enough to ask anything. Hiccup stared at the flames, poking the embers with a stick every so often. After a while Sherlock turned to Bethany. “Well? There’s a question you’ve been dying to ask me since the day you arrived. Now is your chance.”

She swallowed. At this point she really wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. But Sherlock was waiting and so she voiced it, quietly, looking at her hands. “Sir, there was nobody here when we arrived. You speak of crew and slaves but there are none. I have been wondering what happened to them.”

Sherlock’s voice was gentle when he answered her entire question, including the part she had been too scared to include. “I didn’t kill them, I retired, Bethany. About five years ago I paid off the crew and sent them away. The slaves went to new homes.”

She looked at him in shock. “You _sold_ them, Sir?”

He returned her bewildered look calmly. “Bethany, I had no more use for them. There’s only me here, and the occasional visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the SO for pointing out that police had not been invented yet. Small edit now done :-)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many a tall tale is told, and Bethany gets a laugh.

When Bethany failed to recover from the implications of everything she had heard, Sherlock got up and took her hand. “Hiccup, another dance. The lady is sad and bewildered and that will not do on Midsummer.” He bowed to Bethany.

To her surprise Sherlock led a traditional Viking dance. Hiccup picked up on it quickly enough and made it fast; Bethany took a bit of time to get used to the idea, moving warily with him. He looked odd dancing a village dance in his expensive frock coat and boots, the buttons jangling as he jumped and kicked about, but he grinned at her. “Come on girl, you know this. Probably better than me.” She laughed then and joined in properly, and they capered about the courtyard, Bethany occasionally correcting Sherlock with an “oi!”, or a “no!”, only making him grin wider. By the end of it her black mood had lifted and they returned to the fire laughing. Sherlock sat her down next to him and passed round the last of the wine, calling for more stories. He turned to Hiccup. “Tell Bethany the story of how you got your dragon.”

Hiccup was a good story teller, although he was hesitant at first. He was clearly not comfortable telling the story of how he had hunted and shot the night fury with the full intent of killing him, permanently maiming him in the process. He got more animated when he told about how it had changed Berk for the better, and the special bond between dragons and his people, how he had fixed Toothless up and the spectacular story of how he’d lost his leg. Bethany couldn’t quite believe he had only been fifteen at the time. Hiccup finished with a smirk. “And so I am happy to report that people can and do change, even those who spend a lot of their time killing things.” He looked straight at Sherlock as he said it, who rolled his eyes. “Your people killed out of ignorance, Hiccup. You can hardly say the same of me.”

Hiccup shrugged. “They still changed.”

Hiccup chose Bethany to ask a question of after that. “I just wondered if you have more than one name. You must have a last one, at least.”

She blushed and looked at the ground. “You’re just going to laugh, Sir.”

Hiccup grinned at her. “Bethany, my full name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock. The third. How much worse can it get?”

She suppressed a giggle at that. It seemed the traditions on the islands were similar. “It’s Goldfish, Sir. Bethany Goldfish Eiriksdottir. My mum said it was because I was such a blonde baby.”

She thought for quite a while before asking Hiccup a question, mainly because he had talked so much about life on Berk already. In the end she asked him about his friends on the island.

He did a good job describing his comrades in arms, and Bethany was especially fascinated with the antics of the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut and their dragon. She found it hard to believe they would ride one two-headed beast with two names and argue about it, and he had her in stitches with some of the stories of the trouble they got into because of it. True or not, she loved the tales.

The last turn was for Sherlock, to ask of Bethany. “I have no questions,” he said, “so I would request another song.”

She felt let off lightly, having worried somewhat about what searching thing Sherlock might ask, so she gladly sang for them, one of her favourite springtime songs that she had heard sung many times during Midsummer. The courtyard was quiet after she finished as each of them was left with their own thoughts, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

\--oOo-- 

“Well, lady and gentleman, it’s been a pleasure.” Hiccup drained his glass, stood up and bowed elaborately, decidedly slightly drunk. “I bid thee goodnight.” Bethany laughed. “Goodnight, kind Sir.” Sherlock raised his glass to him and they watched him weave his way back to the front door, a little unsteady and with a detour via the buffet. He entered the house munching on a piece of cold meat and left the door ajar. Sherlock shook his head. “Ah, the youth of today. I was drinking rum at his age.”

 _And killing people,_ Bethany couldn’t help but think. To her surprise Sherlock answered her unspoken comment light-heartedly. “Yes, and killing people, and womanising, and raiding villages.” He looked at her wickedly, and continued, “and studying science, mathematics, languages and philosophy, and music, and dance. Which bit do you want, Bethany? It’s all one package.”

She blushed, because he had put his finger on the thing that enraged her most about him. He had the mind of a scientist or a philosopher, and yet he chose to be a pirate. What it said about his heart she could not fathom, and she left the answer to his question hanging in the air because she didn’t have one. She made to go. “I will go to bed as well, Sir.”

“No.”

She looked back at him, confused. “It is late, Sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, and it’s Midsummer, and I don’t care what domestic drudgery doesn’t get done tomorrow. I have not given you permission to go to bed.”

She sat back down with an “Oh.” To add to her confusion, Sherlock got up and took her hand, smiling slightly. “I also didn’t say sit down. Come.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Sunday Smut chapter ;-)

He took her out of the compound, leaving the fire behind them, and down the steep path to the beach, the light of the Midsummer moon just enough to guide their way. She was a little unsteady on her legs from the drink but he made sure she didn’t trip, and they arrived without a bump. They walked over to the water’s edge and she was delighted to see the sea was lit up, the edge of every wave aflame with tiny specks of green light, a glowing carpet spreading onto the sand every time a wave hit the shore, and when she walked in the wet sand she left flaming green footprints. She turned to him, smiling. “The sea is on fire, Sir. Thank you for bringing me. I love it when it’s like this.”

He smiled at her childish enjoyment of the phosphorescence and let her play for a while. He’d put his boots and coat by the path and was walking barefoot in the surf, while Bethany had hitched up her skirts and was swishing her feet through the waves, making patterns. The water was still warm from the long day of sunshine, protected in the still little cove. After a while he called her over to him and she came to the shallower water.

“It’s beautiful, Sir.”

He nodded, and said, “Yes. Not quite why I brought you here.”

Before she had a chance to respond he kissed her, running his hands through her hair and drawing her to him, then running one hand over her back and undoing the bow of her fabric belt. She came up breathless as he let her go a moment to take off the first dress, draping it carefully over one arm and then returning to the kiss. She was lost in him, vaguely wondering what he was doing, but caring very little. Sherlock broke off the kiss again and looked at her, smiling at the effect he was having as she looked back at him in a daze. He leant down and took the hem of her second dress, drawing it up over her head and arms and ending up with an armful of fabric. Without further ado he got her to step out of her undergarments which floated off, leaving her standing stark naked on the dark beach. He ran his free hand over her body, circling her breast and nipple, grinning at the gasp he elicited. “Wait here.”

She watched him as he walked off to a higher part of the beach, carefully put down her clothes and then proceeded to undress himself. It was with a mixture of arousal and trepidation that her eyes followed him coming back down the beach to her. He grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

He kissed her again, hungrily, his hands exploring her body and finding her breasts, her nipples, her buttocks. She responded nervously, not sure where she should put her hands, finding his sudden naked closeness overwhelming, struggling against being swept away by him although her body wanted to. He stopped and studied her a moment. “Too much.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact and she just nodded, still breathless, just about holding on to calm but very close to losing it. He took half a step back and gave her a little bow, spreading his arms. “My yokel body, ma’am,” and it was such an absurd statement that she could only giggle. He gently took her hand, putting it on his chest, encouraging her to touch him, and she ran her fingers slowly over the muscle and scars in awe. “There’s nothing yokel about it, Sir.”

He smiled and drew her in closer, wrapping her other arm around him. Then he bent down and kissed her again, more slowly this time, allowing her to explore and respond, to get used to the feeling of his naked body against hers. She gradually softened to him, her arousal taking over, her skin singing in all the places where their bodies touched, her head in a spin. She could feel his hardness against her as she pressed into him, keen and eager. Then he broke off the kiss and grinned at her. “Hold on tight.”

Before she knew what was happening he had hooked a leg around hers and pulled her clear off her feet. As she went down she yelped but he held onto her, and she to him, so that she landed softly in the shallow water with Sherlock going down with her, opening her legs as he went and ending up squarely between them, a splash of luminescence radiating out from where they fell. She stared at him, stunned, as he peeled her arms from him and entwined his hands in hers, pinning them in the sand by her head. He smiled, then kissed her again, harder this time and her body responded, rising to his in the water, willing him to take her even as a tiny remaining rational part of her mind vaguely wondered if this would hurt. She could feel him, hard, just hovering at the edge of her sex, tantalisingly close to entering her and she moaned through the kiss in anticipation. He broke off and watched her a moment before he took her, slowly entering her as he studied the emotions on her face but she closed her eyes, unable to withstand his scrutiny on top of the overwhelming sensation of him slowly penetrating her, making small senseless noises as he went deeper.

She gasped as he started to move inside her, a slow pumping that sent shudders through her body and made her legs weak, and he went back to kissing her as he increased his speed, moving from her lips to her throat, across the collar to her neck, arching his back as he reached her breasts, still holding her by her hands. Bethany was flying, no longer truly aware of her surroundings, the sensations of him moving overwhelming her body, the water around her making her feel like she was floating. She was moaning, bucking against Sherlock who only went deeper in response. He stopped kissing her and focused back on her face, watching her has she nearly reached orgasm, then adjusting his rhythm to keep her hovering right on the edge. He kept her like that for long moments until she realised what he was doing and her eyes shot open, meeting his grin. She nearly swore at him in frustration, desperate for release, arching her back to meet him more fully and his grin only widened but he complied, increasing the rhythm of his strokes, holding her eye until she reached orgasm screaming obscenities, then thrusting into her deeply as he reached his own climax, riding her waves and drawing them out until they both lay spent in the little pool they had created, green specks of light still rippling out.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, for a simple peasant girl you have a _fascinating_ vocabulary."

Bethany couldn't quite remember what she had been yelling. At that moment she didn't care. "I've got older brothers, Sir," she said, hoping that was enough explanation, finding it hard to focus.

\--oOo-- 

She was quite unable to walk any distance after that, and Sherlock took the practical decision for them to sleep on the Storm Petrel instead. Bethany lay in Hiccup’s bunk listening to the quiet sound of the waves lapping the ship, wishing she could sleep in the captain’s cabin, trying to make sense of the tumult of emotions inside her. There was no doubt in her mind anymore that she had fallen hopelessly in love with Sherlock, but at the same time he frightened her with his unpredictability and the complete ease with which he treated her as property. The stories he told about his history frankly horrified her and only compounded the other gruesome tales about him that had been told to her as a child, usually to frighten her into behaving. She had no illusions that he had changed in any way, that he would not kill or rape or pillage if it suited his plans on the day, but she could simply not square that side of him with the fact that he had calmly taught her about her body and how to set up a crop rotation, and kept a library unlike anything she had ever seen, and an apothecary where he developed wholly new medicines for his own use. _If you don’t behave,_ she thought to herself, _the Dread Pirate Sherlock will come and take you away... and teach you about science and herbology and make you love him and probably sell you to the highest bidder when he’s done._ She couldn’t decide whether the real version was better or worse than the childhood bogeyman, and eventually she fell into a fitful sleep and dreamt about flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, sex on the beach only leads to sand in awkward places. But I don't care. We can all dream.  
> Honestly though, don't try this at home.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany has some time to reflect. But not too much.

The next morning she awoke late and was momentarily disoriented, looking at the hold of the ship in confusion until the events of the night came flooding back to her. She sat up with a start as she suddenly remembered, promptly banged her head on the top of the bunk and sank down again on the bed, her mind reeling and now painful to boot. For a moment all she could think of was what her friends would say, and when the realisation that she would never see them again hit her she was suddenly overcome by a wave of homesickness that had her crying. She lay in the bunk, staring at the wooden ceiling and wondering what would become of her until Sherlock emerged from his cabin, looking ruffled and gorgeous. It only made her feel worse, knowing that she was just a toy to him. He took one look at her. “Sad, girl?”

She nodded, unable to hold back the tears. He took her hand and made her sit up on the side of the bunk, sitting down next to her and drawing her into a hug. He kissed the top of her head. “I hope you’re not regretting making love to an old man.”

She smiled through her tears and shook her head. “No Sir.”

Sherlock held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “Well, then what?”

She sighed and shook her head, fearful that he would get angry with her if she spoke her mind. He smiled. “Bethany, permission to speak freely.”

She looked at him, feeling like she wanted to scream at him, kiss him and punch him all at the same time. Her frustration spilled over into words, all the things she had been holding back for weeks in order to remain polite, and servile, and out of fear of retribution. “My life is a mess, Sir. You have me captive on this island that I don’t even know the name of, playing some kind of game I don’t understand the purpose of, and I have no choice in any of it. I have no friends I can talk to and for all I know my family are dead. I don’t have any idea what you will do with me when you’ve finished with me. I don’t even know when that might be. I’m lost, Sir, and I’m scared, and I’m homesick.” She looked at her hands and decided she might as well throw it all out and be done with it. “And I love you, and you scare me. Nothing makes sense anymore.” She bit back the tears, which were pointless.

When he didn’t answer she looked back at him. He was regarding her gravely. “Brave,” he said, “and not quite so stupid.” He pulled her to him and she cried, at the frustration of it all and at his implicit confirmation of her situation, taking some comfort in his strong arms around her and wishing things could be simpler, or that he would just give her some certainty. When she calmed down a little he kissed her head and made her sit up again. “Question is, Bethany,” he said, seriously, “would you miss any of it?”

\--oOo-- 

He left her to think, disappearing onto the deck above as she flopped back onto her bunk with the weight of the realisation that he was right. For all the fear and heartache and emotional turmoil, she wouldn’t miss this for the world. In comparison her old existence seemed dull and tiny. In fact, before Sherlock’s admission that he had sold on his former slaves she hadn’t given it another thought for weeks. The pain was in the knowledge that she might be forced to leave this place to face an uncertain future, and also that Sherlock was quite happy to engineer that. She got up when she realised this, and made her way onto the deck in her nightdress.

Sherlock was sitting on a seat in the prow, legs on the railing, smoking his long pipe. He turned to her when she arrived. “Well?”

She found it hard to meet his eye but did so nevertheless. “You are right, Sir. I would not miss it for anything. I’m scared of what will happen to me. And upset that you might send me away.”

He waved her over and took her hand, drawing her onto his lap, draping a long arm around her in a casual manner, and with the other hand he picked up his pipe again and continued smoking. She settled after a moment, looking out over the cove, the gulls circling overhead, the slow waves on the sea beyond. They sat in silence and she took comfort from his reassuring presence, not demanding for once. After a while he sighed. “It’s short, Bethany, life. You could be gone in an instant. A slip, a fight, an illness, a dragon attack, any of a million things could kill you tomorrow or indeed today. The idea of control is a mere illusion. Having a future at all is a luxury.”

She could not deny his point. It was true, especially in his world, where there was no sense in worrying about next week when you could be killed in a raid tomorrow. Even in her little village it was like that, to a degree, where premature death was an unfortunate fact of everyday life. There really was no certainty, and she managed to find some calm in the thought.

He shook her from her reverie by suddenly taking his legs off the railing and turning so he sat upright, taking her with him. “Which is why we shall make the most of today. Bathtime.” Without warning he picked her up, stood up and threw her over the railing, where she fell screaming gracelessly down into the water of the cove, hitting it bottom first with a big splash. The cold cut through her and she surfaced gasping, looking up to see Sherlock, stripped to his underhose, take a graceful dive off the side of the ship. He landed some distance away from her and surfaced grinning. “Or you could be eaten by a great big shark.”

It took her a fraction of a second to get it and then she swam as he started his chase, but the nightdress encumbered her and she could make little headway. Sherlock was a good swimmer and he was gaining on her quickly, so she dived down into the deeper water, pulling off the garment as she went, and surfaced again naked.

Free from the drag of the fabric she swam like an otter. Her brothers had taught her well, and she managed to gain on him a little by diving under and changing direction, surfacing in different places. He got wise to her very quickly and began to wait to see which direction she would pick, saving his energy for the chase when she surfaced. In the end she swam rapidly to the side of the ship with him in close pursuit and, finding a long rope hanging down, pulled herself up the side, taking the slack with her as she went. She left Sherlock stranded in the water throwing curses at her in a light-hearted fashion before he swam to the wooden jetty in a few easy strokes. There he pulled himself up, running the last few metres to the gang plank and onto the deck, easily chasing her down and catching her in the restricted space as she giggled uncontrollably. He flung her over his shoulder and carried her across the deck, then all but threw her against the mast and took her there and then, without allowing her time to think about past or future or right or wrong, or indeed anything much at all as he penetrated her deeply, grinning at her as she gasped at the suddenness of it. He worked her with long, deep strokes while he kissed her passionately, and she could do little else but hold on for the ride and let him take over her body and her mind, and in it was freedom.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock manages to embarrass everyone, and Hiccup makes an unexpected offer.

Around midday Toothless came soaring over the cove, and after doing a slow circuit landed gracefully on the deck of the Storm Petrel. Hiccup jumped off and surveyed the deck with a dubious expression. Sherlock had dug up a bottle of mead from the captain’s cabin and was sitting back in the prow shirtless, nursing a glass in one hand and with his other arm draped around Bethany, who was half asleep on his chest, just about dressed, looking sated. Her nightdress was drying on the railing and Sherlock’s shirt was carelessly discarded in a corner. “So, this is where the party went then. And there’s me thinking you’d both been abducted by dragons or Odin knows what.” When Sherlock didn’t respond, he added, “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Sherlock looked at him lazily. “No, with apologies Master Hiccup, it’s too late for you to join in.”

Hiccup blushed furiously, and even Bethany, in her relaxed state, coloured. She propped herself up and looked at Sherlock in shock. He returned her stare deadpan. “What. It’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. You know you’d enjoy it.” When she only blushed deeper he grinned, took another sip and lay back again chuckling. Bethany sat up, thoroughly embarrassed now. Sherlock looked over to Hiccup. “Did you bring food?”

Hiccup blustered, trying to cover his embarrassment. “No, because I was out on a rescue mission, you see. Besides, somebody left out half a Midsummer feast on the courtyard last night and Toothless ate most of it.” Behind him, Toothless gave a satisfied belch. Bethany looked at Hiccup in horror.

Sherlock drained his glass and sat up, letting Bethany slide onto the deck. “Can’t be helped,” he said. He looked down at Bethany. “Well, it looks like we’re heading back to the house. Thank you for an excellent night, madam.”

She looked up at him, too embarrassed to speak, and he just grinned at her and then turned to Hiccup. “If you would be so kind as to give the lady a ride, Master Hiccup. I do believe her legs are not up to the climb.”

\--oOo-- 

It took some convincing to get Bethany to ride on Toothless. Her last and only experience had been terrifying, and she wasn’t keen to repeat it. Eventually Sherlock lost his patience, and with an “I’m not dragging you up that damned cliff again” he picked her up and plonked her behind Hiccup. Before she had a chance to say anything the dragon was off, bounding off the side of the ship in an easy leap and skimming the surface of the cove, keeping low on a wide arc. Bethany held onto Hiccup for dear life, eyes closed, squealing. He turned around and yelled at her. “Come on Bethany, open your eyes. Just look, for the Gods’ sake.”

She slowly opened her eyes, expecting to be miles above the sea, but instead she was looking straight at the Storm Petrel as they rushed towards it across the waves, and then the opening of the cove as Toothless veered right and slowly started gaining height. She forgot to be scared as she took in the familiar sights, seen from a completely new angle. As they climbed and the ships at the moorings became smaller and smaller she felt as if she was looking at a detailed picture rather than at the real world, or some toy scene built by a child. She could see Sherlock making his way along the beach to the cliff path, looking like as tiny as an insect and barely moving, and the ships looked like she could just reach out and pick them up. She looked up and around then, at the endless sea surrounding Sherlock's inhospitable home, the hint of other islands on the hazy horizon, and closer by, the ripples on the dragon’s wings as it sped through the air, swooping down on the island again now. It was magic.

\--oOo-- 

When they got back to the courtyard and she slid off Toothless she was elated. Hiccup grinned at her. “Enjoyed that then? Thought you would.”

She returned his grin. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing.”

“That was nothing,” he responded, patting the dragon affectionately. “We’ll have to show her some proper moves next time, bud.” Toothless grumbled in agreement and Bethany laughed. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, Sir.”

They walked back to the house companionably, Bethany taking with her the few bits of food that Toothless had left on the table, mainly carrots and lettuce - tonight’s meal would not be the continuation of the feast that she had planned. Hiccup followed her into the kitchen. He leant against one of the cabinets, watching her busying herself with pots and pans sorting out something that they could eat on Sherlock’s return. She liked having his company, and so she didn’t question it. After a while he shifted. “Are you alright, Bethany? You were pretty upset last night.”

She looked at him, feeling touched by his concern. “Thank you, Sir, I’m better. Master Sherlock cheered me up.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Hiccup said, and it came out more sarcastic than he had intended. She blushed heavily, and he quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry Bethany, that came out wrong. I, eh, I’m happy. I was worried about you.”

She nodded and returned to her work, suddenly feeling awkward. Hiccup cleared his throat. “You know, I’ve been thinking, if it came to it, you could come to Berk. I don’t know what... ehm,” he hesitated, really struggling with the concept, “You know, what kind of money Sherlock would be looking for. But we could buy you off him if he ever threatened to sell you on, and you’d be free.”

She nearly dropped her pan on the floor as she turned around. “That’s... that’s very kind of you, Sir. I could never ask that of you.”

He grinned at her. “No, I know you couldn’t. That’s why I’m offering. Next time I’m home I’ll talk about it with my dad.”

He skipped out of the door without waiting for her answer, and it left Bethany feeling dazed. As a backup plan it sounded infinitely better than being sold to the highest bidder, but she daren’t consider it as a real option. Besides, at the core, she didn’t want to leave at all.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a little silly, and Sherlock tells another story.

They continued the Midsummer festivities as best they could with a much reduced offering of food. Sherlock suggested that Bethany could make Toothless into stew and solve two problems at once, to which Hiccup responded that it wasn’t the dragon’s fault that the housekeeping was sloppy and Sherlock was not in control of his staff. Bethany kept her head down trying to avoid blame, but neither of the men seemed to be in a mood to actually press the point. Instead, Hiccup took Toothless to get fresh fish, and Bethany made the most of what was left in the stores to put together a new buffet. Sherlock produced another bottle of mead from his personal stock and by the time they sat down to dinner there was enough there to call it respectable.

Another night of song and dance followed, where they repeated some of the songs from the night before and introduced new ones to each other. Hiccup and Bethany managed to complete a dance without falling over, but not for want of trying on Sherlock’s part. She could not get over his virtuosity on the violin and once they were seated around the bonfire he treated them to some pieces that were not so much for dancing but for listening. Bethany wondered aloud why all the Viking music should be dances, when it was nice to sit and listen to something other than rowdy songs for a change. Hiccup shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s a bit boring, isn’t it?”

Sherlock finished the piece and answered her. “It’s because they’re yokels. Every single one of them.”

Hiccup howled and stood up in mock outrage. He clearly had had too much mead. “Better than being poncey pirates!”

Sherlock put down the violin and whipped off his coat with a dramatic gesture. “A brawl, Sir, for insulting my honour.” He didn’t give Hiccup a chance to respond, diving for his legs like a cat. Hiccup went over but managed to slip free of Sherlock’s grasp, performing an elegant roll and ending up on his feet, turning to face Sherlock as he went. Sherlock had returned to a crouch, one hand on the ground ready to leap, and for a moment the two men eyed each other up, both grinning. Bethany was watching, fascinated, and thankful that neither of them had a weapon on them. Then Sherlock jumped forward again, this time managing to grab Hiccup’s arm. With a few deft moves he had wrestled the younger man to the ground, pinning one of his arms behind his back and putting his weight on him. “Well?”

Hiccup struggled for a bit, then gave up. “Fine. Yokels it is.”

The dragon came out of nowhere. Suddenly Sherlock was on the ground, flat on his back, staring into Toothless’ narrowed eyes as the dragon growled at him, although it was not showing any teeth. Hiccup got up and brushed himself off, then sauntered over, leaning on Toothless and giving Sherlock a satisfied grin. “Yokels with dragons, mind you.”

Sherlock laughed from his prostrate position. “Maybe I am becoming a poncey pirate after all. Touché, Master Hiccup.”

They returned to the fire after that and shared another round of drinks. Sherlock called out for tales. “Well then. Let me hear the worst that is out there about me, and I will give you the truth of the story. This should be interesting.”

Hiccup thought for a bit. “Oh, I know. Apparently, when your ship first got to the archipelago, you raided every island in the south and took all the animals, and the crops. All the villagers starved to death over winter and you established your base on one of the deserted islands. Nobody has lived in the area since.”

Sherlock stared at him. “Every island to the south. So that will be, what, fifteen islands, all with around forty to fifty houses, maybe twenty farms each? And we kept all these stores on the Storm Petrel while we waited for the villagers to die? Or did we get the sheep to swim alongside?” He burst out laughing. “That’s a classic.”

Hiccup laughed as well. Put that way, the story was clearly absurd. “Well, you tell me. I wasn’t there.”

Sherlock shook his head. “The truth is, we cleared one of the smaller islands and established our base there. It was easy to defend, and it gave us some ready storage. I’m sorry to say the villagers put up a fight, but there weren’t very many of them, and we kept some of the women for...” He looked at Bethany a moment, “...duties. The other women and children, and the men that surrendered were put in a fishing boat and cast off, and from what I heard they made it to a nearby island after a couple of days. Once we established ourselves there we raided the local islands when we needed food and concentrated on taking out the trade ships for the majority of our time.” He paused a moment, thought about it again and then laughed and shook his head. “Honestly. There’s no point in starving the peasants, there would be nobody left to grow the crops. I think you will find that all those islands have thriving villages if you ever make it that far south.”

He turned to Bethany. “Go on then. We were active around your islands for ages. There must be some shockers doing the rounds.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany forgets her station and makes a bloody stupid mistake that even the writer can't quite get over.

She looked at her hands. The last few days had emboldened her, but she knew she should not forget her status. On the other hand, it was a rare opportunity to find out if there was any truth to some of the horror tales of her childhood. She picked one that had always bothered her profoundly.

“Sir, as a child I was told you went to Kråga where you murdered the island’s chief in his bed. The story goes that you killed the chief’s son, who was only a child, as he ran from the house, threw his body in the sea and then raped the chief’s wife, keeping her captive in her house for days, while your men plundered the village and took everything they could, killing the men and raping the women as they went. I think that’s the worst I heard, with respect, Sir.”

Sherlock sighed, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, I did ask. I will admit there is a core of truth to it. But not in the way that you tell it.” He poured himself another drink, passing the bottle to Hiccup, who refilled Bethany and himself. Sherlock stretched out his legs. “Ah, Kråga. It’s a rich little island, and we had on occasion raided the grain stores in autumn. It was quite close to our base and therefore an easy target. The chief had put a handsome price on our heads, more so because he ran a trade in tin and brass and occasional gold that made him rich, and he despised us for targeting his ships. He wasn’t a nice man, Bethany, and he was known for it throughout the region. He was stingy, and mean, and he double-dealt his allies and mistreated his men. I will admit I took a delight in making his life a misery.” He took a sip from his glass and contemplated the drink a moment.

“One night, a small party of his men made their way onto our island. They shot the sentry, set light to our stores and put flaming arrows into the roofs of the houses. I was sleeping on the Storm Petrel at the time, not wishing to be on dry land, and it was their undoing. In a moment of bravado one of them shot an arrow into the ship that started a fire. I was awake as soon as the tip hit the wood and he did not live very long to enjoy his moment of glory. I killed him, but not before he told me who sent them.” He stared at the fire.

“The four of us that remained set off in a rage the same night, and we arrived at the crack of dawn bringing fire to the village. The men set light to the stores in retribution and I made my way to the chief’s house.” He looked at Bethany. “He was awake and dressed, having been alerted by a night watchman, and he fought me, albeit badly. I’m not one for killing people in their beds.” Looking back at the fire, he continued. “The child, if you could call him so, was about fifteen. He was quick and agile and put three arrows in me before I managed to get to him in a blind rage. He fled down the street and I cut him down as he was running.” Bethany looked horrified. Sherlock shook his head. “He lived, Bethany. When I realised his age I carried him back to the house, dead to the world but still breathing, and I stitched him up and made sure he survived. It was one of the reasons I stayed in the house for days.”

He was quiet for a while, clearly remembering as he stared into the fire. “The other reason was the widow. She begged me to save her life, which I had no intention of taking, and when she realised this she thanked me on her knees for saving her from the tyranny of her abusive husband.” He smiled. “I... received her thanks, gladly, for several days, and I can promise you that nobody was held captive.” He looked into space a moment, then grinned. “Not for very long, anyway.”

Bethany blushed and looked at Hiccup, who had forgotten he had a drink in his hand. Drops of mead were slowly falling onto the ground as his glass tipped gradually sideways, his eyes fixed on Sherlock in total fascination. Sherlock looked at them both a second, shook his head and chuckled. Then he continued his tale. “Her son recovered, and she insisted that I took him with us. Ranald became the fourth member of my crew and stayed for years. He was an excellent shot and a good seaman, and eventually became my second in command.” He was quiet for a long time, staring at the fire, then pulled himself away from his memories.

“The story of what I did in the house was clearly told by the widow. It explained why her husband was dead, her son was gone, and why she had not gone running for help in the village during the time I was there.” He looked at Bethany, his clear eyes emotionless. “I cannot account for what my men did during those days, and I will admit I may have been remiss in that. But we had lost a man, and they were in a rage, and I was distracted.”

 _As simple as that_ , she thought. While the story as Sherlock told it was certainly more palatable than the original, it was still a tale of senseless death and vicious assault, and she wondered how many of the villagers had died for no reason or been violated because he was otherwise occupied, or whether he might not have stopped his men even if he had been with them. The idea that there had been children in the village, and they had got caught up in all of it, and the question of what might have happened to them chilled her to the core.

Sherlock was studying her. “Well?”

She looked back at him, finding it hard to meet his eye. “Well what, Sir?”

“Better or worse, Bethany.”

She swallowed. “I... I can’t say, Sir. I’m glad you didn’t kill the boy.”

He looked at her questioningly. “But...?”

“All those people, Sir, they had nothing to do with it. And there would have been children.” He returned her gaze with a dismissive shrug. She suddenly got very angry. The mead certainly hadn’t helped her judgment. “They died, Sir, and the women were brutally raped just because you were distracted. And the children had to see all that, and live with it, or maybe they got killed as well, you don’t even know. And you seem to think that’s alright. And it’s not.” She was very close to tears. When he just shrugged again, with a slight eye roll this time, she lost it. She went for him, shouting in rage and hatred and frustration at his smug insolence, throwing punches at his chest as she toppled him backwards onto the ground, not registering that he caught her by the waist instead of defending himself. Behind her Hiccup was yelling at her to stop. She kept at Sherlock, shouting obscenities she never knew she’d stored in her head, pouring all the frustration and anger of the last four months, the lifelong fear of him, the uncertainty of her family’s fate, the impossibility of her love for him and her hatred of what he was and his total power over her into that one moment, pounding her fists on him in impotent rage. Eventually Sherlock grabbed her by the wrists. “Enough, Bethany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know, who hasn't felt the urge to punch Sherlock sometimes. I can't blame her, but she hasn't made my job easy.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany gets a chance to consider new perspectives.

She stopped, realised what she had just done and sagged with a shocked and fearful “Oh.” She looked in horror at Sherlock who was lying on the ground below her, regarding her gravely while holding her arms. He let go of her, pushing himself up until he was sitting on the ground as she scrambled back into a kneeling position in front of him, looking everywhere but at his face, wondering if Hiccup would be able to save her this time. Sherlock let out a deep sigh. “Look at me.”

She lifted her gaze and found him serious, but it was hard to tell if he was angry. “Bethany, I have never hidden who or what I am from you or anyone else, but I will make no apologies. The problem you have is in here.” He touched a long finger to her forehead. “You are free to hate me. But don’t make me into something I am not.”

She looked at him, wondering whether he actually felt hurt underneath the proud exterior, equally worried that there might still be consequences for her rash deed, shaking externally and internally. “I don’t hate you, Sir. I... I just got very angry. I am sorry. I forgot my station.”

Sherlock considered her a moment, then just said, “Indeed.” He shifted his gaze to behind Bethany. “You may stand down, Master Hiccup, I am not about to punish a display of compassionate rage. Contrary to what the girl might believe I am not a monster.” Then he turned back to Bethany, contemplating her. She felt tiny, wishing the ground could just swallow her up, wishing she’d never opened her mouth in the first place. “Well, what a fine mess we’ve made of this. But I am partly to blame.” He stood up, making her feel even smaller. To her surprise he held out his hand, helping her stand. She looked at him in wonder and he looked back at her calmly. “Not a monster, Bethany.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock walked back to the table, leaving Bethany feeling a little lost, and picked up his violin. “Master Hiccup, why don’t you take the girl and show her what your dragon is made of. I need to think.”

Hiccup was more than happy to comply, keen to get away from the tense environment of the campfire, but Bethany really wasn’t sure. When she hesitated, Sherlock added, “That was not a suggestion, Bethany, it was an order. Go with Master Hiccup.”

She jumped, almost running to catch up with Hiccup, kicking herself for being slow on the uptake. She really didn’t wish to upset Sherlock any further, especially since he had gone so very lightly on her. When they reached Toothless she found herself less than brave, however. Hiccup jumped nimbly onto the dragon and held out his hand for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it. It was pitch dark, and the idea of flying in the night terrified her even more than flying in daytime. Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Honestly Bethany, I’m starting to believe you’ve got a death wish. Sherlock wasn’t being subtle. We’re going for a ride, whether you like it or not.”

As she climbed on it dawned on her that while Sherlock had said he wasn’t going to punish her, this was about as effective as any punishment she might have imagined. She was sure it wasn’t a coincidence. After all, he could have just sent her inside.

\--oOo-- 

As it turned out, flying the dragon at night was an experience she would not easily forget. The takeoff from the courtyard was bumpy and terrifying and nothing like the dragon’s smooth launch from the Storm Petrel, but once they were airborne she was able to open her eyes and look around her. It was a cloudy night after another sunny day, and there was no moon to see by. The only light that could be seen for miles around was the bonfire in the courtyard, and even that was hidden from view as soon as they went some way from the island. She had to admire Sherlock’s choice of home; it was extremely secluded and would be almost impossible to spot during the daytime. It made her wonder how the dragon riders had found him, which made her wonder how they got friendly with him considering his reputation, which in turn made her wonder why they would have done so in the first place. It was something that she hadn’t considered before, and she decided she would ask Hiccup when they had an opportunity to talk that did not involve shouting over the noise of the wind.

Toothless had climbed higher and higher as she was thinking, and suddenly she found herself in a cold fog. She had little time to wonder what was happening as they shot out of it, suddenly floating above a sea of silver, the bright full moon reflecting magically on the ocean of clouds below. She gasped, totally taken aback by the beauty of the scene, her mind reeling at this perspective she had never even contemplated. She wondered if Sherlock had seen this, whether he knew Hiccup would take her up here, and she could only conclude that of course he had, and he did, and that this was maybe  no punishment but an opportunity to see a completely different perspective. The meaning of it wasn’t lost on her and she sat silently, wondering about many things but mostly the conundrum that was Sherlock’s many-faceted personality. She was so quiet that Hiccup turned around. “Are you alright back there? Usually people say something at this point.”

She came back to the real world. “Yes... Yes, I’m sorry Sir, it’s unbelievable. I never realised it was like this.” She looked up at the stars, which were as far as ever, but clearer somehow up here. “Have you been up there?”

Hiccup looked up wistfully. “No, we can only get so far before it gets too cold and Toothless struggles to fly. They never get any closer. You can’t breathe very well up there, either.” He winked at her. “But we like doing this, though. Hold on.”

He turned back round and gripped the handles on Toothless’ harness, pushing forward hard. Toothless folded in his wings as he dived down, dropping like a stone with the force of gravity, accelerating at a frightening rate while performing a slow spin. Bethany screamed as she grabbed onto Hiccup for dear life, thinking they would surely die. In contrast, Hiccup let out a long whoop as they burst through the clouds at a phenomenal speed, hurtling towards the darkened sea, and Toothless unfolded his wings at the last moment to stop their descent and shoot back up towards the clouds in a graceful arc. Hiccup was laughing with pure joy as the dragon stabilised his course, coasting once more just underneath the clouds at a steady speed. Bethany, on the other hand, was struggling to catch her breath, her heart in her throat, wondering how they were still alive.

They flew like that for a while, slowly circling, until Hiccup steered the dragon on a gentle course to the very top of Sherlock’s island. There Toothless set them down on a grassy mound at the foot of a tall spire of stone, allowing them a full view of the island and the surrounding sea. Bethany had never been this high up, and she sat down when Hiccup did, taking in the night-time view. He leant against the rock behind him looking up at the sky.

“You know, that was a brave thing you did. You do realise that you might well be the only person ever to punch Sherlock in earnest and live to tell the tale.”

She felt a little sick at the thought. “Ehm, at least so far. It was a stupid thing to do, Sir. I fear there may be consequences yet.”

Hiccup shook his head. “Nah, he drew you out. I don’t think you realise he was doing it, but I got the impression he was just seeing how far he could push you.”

She looked at her feet and wondered if that was true.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany makes a brave move in order to clear the air.

When Toothless delivered them back to the compound she realised she’d been so caught up in her thoughts that she’d forgotten to ask Hiccup about how he ended up staying with Sherlock, and she resolved to find out the next time she had a chance to speak to him alone.

The fire had burnt down and for a moment she thought Sherlock had gone to bed, but then she saw that he was still sitting on the other side, poking the embers absentmindedly. He straightened up when they walked over, addressing them both. “We’ve been sat on this island for too long. Tomorrow we ready the Storm Petrel and set sail. Take enough to last you two weeks or so. I have no intention of rushing back.”

Hiccup raised his eyebrows. “And where are we going?”

“Out,” was Sherlock’s only response.

\--oOo-- 

She went to him that night in trepidation, certain in her own mind that she could not leave things as they were. It took a little mental effort to knock, and when she opened the door to his curt “Come” she found him sitting in his chair with a book, looking guarded. His voice was cool and had a distinct edge to it when he said, “You’re brave.”

She took a deep breath and swallowed, walked the last few steps to his seat with her eyes on the floor and kneeled down. “I have come to apologise, Sir. What I did and said was way out of line.”

His response was simple and curt. “Yes.”

She looked at him, desperate to find some way to get through his stoic exterior. “Master Sherlock, I would like to find some way to make up for it, Sir.”

He sighed. “Bethany, there is nothing to say. I am willing to let it pass because I drew you out. But I believe I have made your stay here as comfortable as my principles will allow, and while you are at liberty to hate me for whichever slight you feel I have inflicted upon you, or indeed on total strangers twenty-five years ago, I do not expect you to attempt to attack me again. There is a limit to my leniency.”

She nodded and apologised again, looking back at the floor, feeling terrible and still no closer to a resolution. He was as closed as a clam, and she could only read disappointment and hurt and anger behind his coolness. When she looked up again he had returned to his book, his left hand holding it, the other draped over his lap in a relaxed fashion, blanking her entirely. It gave her an idea that part of her mind told her was sheer insanity and could lead her into much deeper trouble if she misjudged it, but even so she got up and moved to the side of the chair, kneeling down again and taking Sherlock’s right hand gently in one of hers, bringing it to her mouth for a soft kiss on his fingers. He lowered his book and looked at her warily. “I’m reading, Bethany.”

She nodded and kissed his fingertips. “I know Sir. You were not using this hand.”

He raised an eyebrow at the audacity of it. In response she turned his hand around and kissed the inside of his fingers, making her way along the palm and onto his wrist, placing small kisses along the way, then turning his hand back and kissing him over the top back to his fingertips. Sherlock casually closed the book with his other hand but held onto it still as he watched her, and she saw it as a good sign. She repeated the pattern, but when she returned to his fingertips this time she gently ran the tip of her tongue over them. She tasted salt, and smoke, and she liked it.

When he sighed and put the book down on the side table she knew she was getting through to him, and so she increased the fervour of her kisses, taking his other hand too, kissing the palms and fingers of both hands in turn. She could tell he was studying her, trying to work out whether she was being genuine or just manipulating him, but she didn’t care. She had his attention, and he was no longer being angry at her, and it made her happy. She cried when he took his hands from hers and wrapped them around her face, leaning down to kiss her, the taste of his lips mingling with the salt of her tears. Her own hands found their way underneath his shirt, and she caressed his skin until he broke off their kiss and pulled the garment over his head. She moved in front of him then, and kissed his chest where she had pummelled him, muttering apologies as she went.

He led her to the bed, removing his breechess and her nightshirt before lying down and getting her to climb on top, watching her with a wary expression of wonder as she made love to him with a dedication that belied her previous rage. As his lust grew he rolled them both over, taking over from her and increasing the rhythm, reasserting his ownership of her as he took her and she melted into him, surrendering without hesitation and without holding back. They came together in passionate unity, his teeth leaving marks on her neck as her nails dug into his back, and she felt complete, and free, if only for a moment. He let her stay in his room that night and she slept like she had not slept for weeks.

\--oOo-- 

In the morning he took her to the apothecary. She hadn’t been in this room, and she kept her hands on her back in reverence, careful of the warnings Sherlock had given her about it. It was a truly wondrous place, with labelled bottles containing herbs and other ingredients lining the shelves on the walls, some with labels that looked ancient, some clearly recent. Sherlock took a number of bottles from the cabinets and ground a few carefully measured spoonfuls of the herbs contained in them in a pestle and mortar, adding some liquid as he went. Then he took a small metal mould and poured the thick mixture into it, smoothing it out with a piece of wood so that the mixture was contained in the twenty or so little holes in the mould. From the remnants he rolled a small ball and gave it directly to Bethany. “Take it, and then when these are dried take one of them each day. I’ll make some more for the journey.”

She looked at the little ball, wondering what it was and what it was for. Sherlock answered her questioning gaze. “Rue, wild carrot, some other herbs I have picked up on my travels. This house is no place for a child.”

She registered the implication, realised she agreed wholeheartedly, and quickly took the primitive pill with the glass of water that Sherlock offered her. It tasted unpleasant and she felt a little odd all day, but considered it a small price to pay when taking into account the alternatives.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany packed her clothes in the small sea chest that Sherlock had given her. There wasn’t that much to take, and everything fitted comfortably. Sherlock dropped by her room just as she was surveying the remaining space and wondering what to put in, carrying a couple of small books and another roll of paper. “You’ll have time to study on the ship, there’s never that much to do on deck in summer. And we are bound to have days with little wind if the weather stays like this.” She accepted them gratefully, and added them to the chest along with her ink and pen. After that she concentrated on getting together the food and drink for the journey. With Toothless on board there would be no shortage of fresh fish, but she took all the dry stores that she could conceive of using during the journey, and any produce that would keep. She baked fresh loaves to take but also packed a store of ship’s biscuits since Sherlock gave no indication whether they would be landing at any point.

It took them most of the day to get ready. Toothless helped by taking all their luggage, the food and the barrels of ale and water down to the ship, but Bethany still ended up making several trips up and down the cliff on foot running errands for Sherlock who spent the afternoon inspecting the ship and the stores that were already on board, and sending her to fetch what was missing or running low. It was the hardest she had worked for weeks and she was exhausted when she returned from her last trip. Sherlock, who was busy inspecting the main sail, half-joked that he was finally getting his money’s worth and she scowled at him but bit back the sarcastic reply that was on the tip of her tongue. There was an edge to him when he was on the ship, and she did not fancy riling him.

When Sherlock was satisfied that the Storm Petrel was ready they took one more trip back up to the house. Bethany was grateful to catch a ride with Hiccup and accepted his offer to fly on Toothless without hesitation this time. Sherlock followed them on foot, and when he caught up with them they secured the house, made doubly sure that the irrigation system for the vegetable beds was operational and released the animals into the woods to fend for themselves while they were away. There were no natural predators on the island, and short of a dragon attack they should be secure. It felt strange to leave the house unguarded but Sherlock did not seem worried by it. “It is by its location under the protection of Berk. Very few raiders venture this way since Hiccup has got everyone riding dragons there. Besides, the place has my signature all over it. There are not many who would be brave enough, and I am on speaking terms with the majority of those.” Bethany had always thought the figures of two storm petrels facing each other on the compound gate to be decorative. She’d never realised they were meant as a deterrent.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are at sea again!

They cast off just as the afternoon was waning into evening. The sun was low in the sky and the sunset promised to be spectacular, and Sherlock was clearly keen to go. Bethany was impressed with the way he turned and manoeuvred the big ship out of the tiny harbour with ease, remembering her own fumbling efforts in the little boat on the night of her escape with some embarrassment. Hiccup was high above them, having decided to give Toothless a bit of fun after all his hard work, and she watched their aerobatics with excitement and a realisation that what Hiccup had shown her yesterday really was nothing.

They sailed until deep into the night, Hiccup and Sherlock taking turns at the rudder, Bethany feeling a little lost for things to do after she had served dinner but too tired to feel guilty about it. She sat in the prow and looked at the bow wave, wondering at the smooth speed of the ship, and what might live beneath. The rocking motion of the ship and the almost hypnotic movement of the wave rushing past the bow slowly sent her into a state of half-sleep as the sun went down in red and orange fire, and she was overcome with a great feeling of contentment after the turmoil of the last few days.

Sherlock joined her at some point when Hiccup had the rudder, looking out over the sea towards the sunset as he stood beside her. He was wearing the same long coat and tricorn hat as when she had first seen him, and she remembered thinking he looked exotic and dangerous, and had to conclude that was still true today. He was different when he was on the ship, sterner and more distant, and the thought of flying at him in a rage here seemed absurd and suicidal and insanely stupid. It made her embarrassed all over again to have done it in the first place. He turned and looked at her with a slight frown. “Your thoughts, Bethany?”

She flushed, wondering if she really was so easy to read. “I... I was remembering what I did last night, Sir, and regretting it again. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “It is done. We all do things we regret. There is no point in dwelling on it.”

 _Permission to let it go_ , she thought, and she looked at him gratefully. “Thank you, Sir.”

\--oOo-- 

It was very late when Sherlock lowered the mainsail and Hiccup cast out the sea anchor, and Bethany looked around for something to sleep on, wondering where her luggage had got to. She hadn’t seen it since she had put it on the courtyard for Toothless to take care of it, having been too busy climbing up and down the cliff for Sherlock. Sherlock noticed her looking around. “It’s below decks, Bethany.”

She was confused as to what he meant. She’d assumed she would be sleeping on the deck again, just like last time. It seemed awkward to have to go below decks every time she needed to get something. But, she guessed, it would make sure nothing would get wet. There was only one problem – there was nothing to sleep on up here. Toothless had the spare mainsail and a few smaller sails that Bethany assumed might be spares for the jib, but the bags she had used before had been tidied away. Sherlock came over, wondering why she hadn’t moved. “Below decks, Bethany. Your stuff.”

She looked totally uncertain. “Yes Sir, but there’s nothing to sleep on here.”

He stared at her a moment, then got it and shook his head, amused. “I’m giving you a bunk, Bethany. Below decks, across from Hiccup. Your stuff’s there already.”

\--oOo—

It didn’t feel right somehow, to be sleeping downstairs. She struggled with the feeling that she shouldn’t be there, that it was somehow wrong because of her status, as she sat on the edge of her bunk in the half light watching Hiccup pull the woollen blanket over himself, quite content. He’d been ready for bed when she had come down, avoiding the whole awkward issue of getting changed – on his part, at least. He picked up on her discomfort. “Is something bugging you, Bethany?”

She shrugged. “I’m not crew, Sir. I shouldn’t be sleeping down here. It feels wrong.”

Hiccup sat up again on the edge of the bed, narrowly avoiding banging his head as he did so. “So what, you’d rather be sleeping out in the open in all weathers because you don’t deserve to be comfortable? You’re being ridiculous.” He seemed quite cross.

“I’m sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she said, feeling even worse.

Hiccup sighed. “I’m not angry, Bethany. I just can’t quite believe that you seem to have classed yourself as less than human somehow. He’s got you well trained, Sherlock has. If anything you should be sleeping in there.” He pointed his thumb at the captain’s cabin.

She was quite shocked by his bluntness, and not sure what to say. He looked at her, his brown eyes regarding her kindly. “Look, I know you haven’t got many options and you’re pretty much at his beck and call, but please don’t put yourself down on top of it. You’ve got to look after yourself. And you’re good, you know, at what you do, and he should be really pleased we found you. And, well, maybe he is, and that’s why you’re down here.”

Bethany nodded. “Thank you, Sir. You’re very kind.”

Hiccup smiled at her. “Thanks. It’s not difficult in contrast with Master Moodswing.”

She giggled. “That’s unfair, Master Hiccup. Master Sherlock has treated me well.”

“Well,” Hiccup said, lying down again, “I’m glad you think so. I’d hate for it to have turned out otherwise.” He looked at her a moment, then realised she was a little stuck. “Oh. I’ll turn round, shall I, so you can get changed.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup gets a surprise or two.

When she woke up Bethany realised that the ship was already speeding across the sea. She was disoriented a moment, thinking that she must have overslept, so she jumped out of bed in her nightdress and sped up the ladder, worried, but when she stumbled onto the deck she realised it was only just getting light, a cold grey dawn that started with fog on the water. Given that it was the middle of summer it was still very much night-time, and she looked towards the tiller, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Sherlock was sitting at the stern, looking for all the world like he’d been there all night, steering the fully rigged ship at speed on the course he had picked. He seemed deep in thought and didn’t appear to have noticed her, so after a moment’s consideration she decided against disturbing him and quietly went back to her bunk. She fell asleep again to the sound of water rushing along the hull, and the steady rocking of the ship on the waves.

\--oOo-- 

The second start to Bethany’s morning was much more routine, at least until Hiccup followed her onto the deck, munching a piece of bread. Sherlock was still sitting at the tiller, looking like he had not moved since she had come up previously. He nodded to them both curtly, then held out a rapier, handle first, for Hiccup to take. “Master Hiccup, satisfaction please for your rash words last night.” When Hiccup looked at him blankly, he added, “Master Moodswing, indeed.”

Hiccup coloured. “Eh, oh. Ehm. You weren’t meant to...” his voice trailed off, as he realised his mistake. He was suddenly looking very nervous.

“Quite.” Sherlock responded. “Having those kinds of conversations right underneath an open hatch is not advisable. Now take the sword.”

“Look, I’m sorry Sherlock, I didn’t mean any harm. I was just trying to cheer her up.” Hiccup was frantically trying to remember what else he’d said.

“...By encouraging insubordination.” Sherlock added to Hiccup’s sentence. He turned to Bethany and gave her a nod. “Thank you for defending me, that was unexpected.” Then he returned to Hiccup, still holding out the rapier. “The sword, Master Hiccup, and we will settle this.”

Hiccup took it nervously. While he’d had plenty of practice sparring with Sherlock he was well aware that the older man was the superior swordsman. “Ehm.”

Sherlock fixed the tiller and stood up, drawing his own sword. “First blood, and the dragon stays out of it.” He thought a moment, then added, “Winner gets to kiss the girl.”

Hiccup frowned, emboldened by the fact that the fight was only to first blood. He’d expected much worse. “And does the girl have a say in this? You know, it seems a bit unfair, especially since she defended you.”

Sherlock looked at him with disdain. “Last time I checked, she was mine to kiss or share out as I please, boy. But, if it assuages your conscience, we shall ask her.” He looked at Bethany. “Well?”

Bethany was having some trouble keeping up. She looked from Sherlock to Hiccup and back, trying to make some sense of what was going on, feeling once more like Sherlock had her on quicksand. As she answered his question vaguely, aware that the chance was very high that Sherlock would win anyway, it occurred to her that he was not so much setting her up for something, but Hiccup. “Yes...  Yes, of course, Sir,” she said, and it was only Sherlock’s amused raised eyebrow that made her realise that _of course_ was maybe not the best choice of words. She blushed.

\--oOo--

The men fought in the early morning sun, moving around the deck like dancers, swords clashing as they skirted around the rigging and used the mast and sails as cover, all under the watchful eye of Toothless who had been less than impressed by Hiccup’s instruction to not interfere. The ship was still travelling at speed and its continual motion added an extra dimension to the fight, with the deck tilting unexpectedly in all directions as the ship pitched and rolled on the waves. Sherlock didn’t seem to be hindered by it, but Hiccup on occasion nearly lost his footing. Eventually Sherlock surprised him by grabbing the rigging and jumping onto the boom, thereby gaining the upper hand, and as Hiccup stumbled backwards Sherlock tackled him and forced him to the ground, holding his rapier against Hiccup’s throat as he kneeled on his chest. He waited a second or two for Hiccup to register the severity of his situation, then, with a tiny move of his wrist moved his sword a fraction upwards. A small drop of blood trickled down from where the tip of the rapier had cut Hiccup’s skin, and after considering him a moment Sherlock got off him and helped him up. “Thank you, Master Hiccup, that was a good fight. Well defended.”

Hiccup laughed nervously, rubbing his throat. “Ehm, thank you, I think. I’ll remember to watch what I say from now on.”

Sherlock nodded as he turned round, already onto the next thing. “Indeed. Bethany!”

She made her way to where they were standing, a little apprehensive. Sherlock gave her an amused smile as she came close, and said, “I will have my reward.” Embarrassed, Hiccup made to move away, but Sherlock told him no. “Stay here, boy. Watch and learn.”

Bethany only had a moment to wonder what he meant before Sherlock took the hem of her shirt and pulled it clean over her head and arms, leaving her standing half naked on the deck of the ship, completely exposed. She gasped, her first instinct to cover herself, but Sherlock took both her arms gently and held them behind her back with one hand, running the fingertips of the other one over her body lightly. She looked at him in shock, suppressing a gasp, and then at Hiccup who was watching with a stunned look on his face, but Sherlock gently turned her face back to him. He was grinning at her shocked expression and just said quietly, “Nothing that hasn’t been done before.” Then he kissed her, running his fingers along her chest and over her breast and nipple as he did so, sending shudders of excitement through her even as her mind reeled at what he was doing. He broke off the kiss, then continued kissing down her throat, over the collar, onto her chest and breast as his free hand was caressing her other nipple. She closed her eyes so as not to have to look at Hiccup as she involuntarily put her head back to give him better access, inwardly cursing herself for being so very easily swayed, her body responding to his touch without her mind being given a choice. _As if you have a choice_ , a small thought managed to get through, and it coincided with Sherlock gently rubbing her left nipple with a thumb while running his tongue around her right one. She inadvertently let out a soft moan.

Sherlock stopped, looked at her face, grinning, and let go of her arms. Then he turned to Hiccup who had turned a bright shade of red but was unable to draw his eyes away from the scene. “Now _that_ ,” Sherlock said, quite pleased with himself, “is how you kiss a girl.” He walked off, back to the stern, leaving Hiccup staring at Bethany and Bethany wishing she could sink through the deck in embarrassment, obvious arousal and all.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Sunday evening chapter! In which Bethany gets some truths out of Sherlock, and promptly wishes that she hadn't.

As soon as he’d got his wits back a little Hiccup ran to pick Bethany’s shirt off the deck and give it to her. She covered herself by holding onto it, too much in a state to put it on. “Thank you, Sir.”

Hiccup looked at her, extremely embarrassed. “Are you alright, Bethany? That was really mean. I’m... I’m so sorry I stared.”

She was finding it hard to find words. Instead she waved her hand through the air vaguely. “It’s... it’s alright. He’s... you know. Sir.”

“Yeah...” Hiccup replied, still looking concerned, finding it hard to make sense of her. “...No.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ehm, maybe you should go and get dressed.”

\--oOo-- 

She got her composure back sitting in her bunk, refusing to comply for the moment with any rules that would have her serve breakfast-without-prompting, and she thought. For about an hour she sat, fitting the pieces together, raking up all the things she could remember that Sherlock had said and done over the last four months, from the moment he had set eyes on her. Everything pointed towards the same thing. She got up, threw some food on a plate and went to see him, trying to keep her breathing level.

Sherlock was still at the tiller, staring out over the sea, looking smug. He turned to face her when she arrived, studied her face a second, looked at the haphazard breakfast, and back to her face with an amused half-frown. “Bethany. It appears I am in the dog house.”

She took a deep breath, trying not to show her upset. “Sir, can I speak to you, please?”

Sherlock made a show of looking around. Other than the sea, the occasional gull, and Hiccup and Toothless all the way on the other side of the deck there was nobody to overhear their conversation. “You have my full attention.”

She wasn’t going to be goaded. “In private, please, Sir.”

He relented. “Very well.” Standing up, he shouted over to Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, take the tiller please.”

\--oOo--

Hiccup looked curious as he took over from Sherlock, but asked no questions as Sherlock led Bethany to his cabin, pulled up a stool for her and sat down in his chair, eyeing her with some amusement. “Well?”

She took another deep breath, trying to calm herself. “It’s Master Hiccup, isn’t it, Sir. He’s the reason I’m here.”

Sherlock continued to look amused as he said, “Without Master Hiccup, I would not have had the need for domestic staff. You are quite right.”

She shook her head, annoyed that he was still playing games with her. “That’s not what I meant, Sir, with respect. I was referring to your... project.”

He flashed her a wicked smile. “Well now. That took you long enough to work out.”

Bethany stared at him, a million emotions fighting inside her. After months of thinking she understood her purpose her world stood upside down once more. She could make nothing of it. Sherlock sighed, turning serious. “Bethany, when Hiccup returns to Berk he will be about to marry his childhood sweetheart who, like him, has no experience in these matters. There is nothing more awkward than two virgins staring at each other wondering what comes next. I’m intending to give him some practical skills, and you have a purpose in that.”

In a strange way it was calming to have a confirmation of her fears. But it didn’t sit well with her, and she cast her eyes down, unable to look at him. “That would be a betrayal of his betrothed, Sir.”

She could almost feel the eye roll. “I’m not intending for Master Hiccup to form an emotional attachment to you. I’m simply giving him an opportunity to gain some experience. He will be fully aware of the terms of engagement. Besides, Astrid is on Berk and she doesn’t need to know.”

She’d almost forgotten how easy these things were to him. She looked back at him and found him studying her. “Any other objections?”

 _Yes_ , she thought, _a million_. He grinned, reading her face. “Oh please. Get used to the idea that this is not village life anymore, girl. _Here be pirates_.” He thought a moment, then added, almost absent-mindedly, “It could be worse, you could hate him, and it would still be your job.”

She looked at him in shock and anger, but the look he returned her was steel. He held her gaze a moment and his voice was deadly serious when he said, “You can hang on to the outrage, Bethany, and make this hard. Or you can let go of your childish indignation and accept the inevitable.” Slightly softer, he added, “I am sure you will find Master Hiccup considerate, far more so than me.”

She yielded, casting her eyes back to the floor with a “Yes, Sir.” It was abundantly clear that there was no standing up to the force of his will, not in her position in any case. She considered his last statement and had to admit that he was right. Hiccup would be kind to her, it was in his nature, and there would be no hardship in it for her. She sighed, trying to find some solace in the thought and discovering to her surprise that the idea of Hiccup touching her in that way only held comfort. She looked back at Sherlock. “What if Master Hiccup refuses your offer of... education, Sir?”

He smiled, amused at the fact that she had relented so easily. “That would be _your_ offer of education. I can only take things so far, and I expect you to be proactive when necessary. But in the end, we can only try. The boy has strong principles.”

She nodded, looking at the floor again, trying to come to terms with everything, wondering what else Sherlock had planned. Then another thought struck her and she looked at him in sudden panic. “When Master Hiccup returns to Berk...” her voice trailed.

Sherlock finished the sentence for her calmly. “I will, indeed, have no further use for you.” She looked at him in horror. “When... Do you know when that will be, Sir?”

“Master Hiccup will return before the autumn storms, at the end of September.”

It was like being given a death sentence. While previously she had believed that if she would only have some certainty she would be happier, now it felt like a hole had opened in the Earth that threatened to swallow her up. Sherlock took her hand as she reeled and kissed it. “October is many months away, Bethany.”

She looked at him, desperately trying to hold onto that thought, telling herself that it wasn’t even halfway, clinging to his implication that until that time she was his, and trying not to dwell too much on the fact that that meant he could do anything he wanted with her in the meantime. She attempted to take comfort in the simple feeling of him holding her hand instead. However, she could not stop another thought bubbling to the surface, a more nefarious one this time. It must have shown on her face, because Sherlock raised his eyebrows questioningly. She found it almost impossible to voice the question and had to look away, withdrawing her hand.

“Sir, ehm...” she swallowed. “If it hadn’t been for... what you need me for, for Master Hiccup, would you have... you know, when you first got me.” she couldn’t finish it. _Would you just have taken advantage of me,_ or _would you have been quite so patient_ , or _would you have raped me on the night_ , the words simply refused to come out of her mouth. She looked at him, desperate for some answer to her implied question, some confirmation that not everything she had experienced was an untruth or a manipulation in some way. He looked at her a moment, serious.

“Bethany, over many years I have found that these things are much more enjoyable with a willing participant, rather than with a terrified victim. I would not have done much different. I have plenty of time these days.”

She nodded, thankful that at least one thing in her world had remained stable, and desperately suppressing the disturbing mental images of things he might have done in the past. “Thank you, Sir.”

Sherlock shifted. It was clear he considered their conference over. “Final thoughts, Bethany?”

She looked at her hands to collect her thoughts. “Sir, I owe Master Hiccup my life, and what you are asking of me is not a hardship on my part. I will try to do as you wish as best I can. But I fear that he may not consent.”

He smiled. “Good. Please do not discuss the matter with Master Hiccup. I will worry about how to get him to play.”

 _Still a game_ , she thought. _Always a game._


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup learns some smooth moves, and Bethany an uncomfortable truth.

She mopped the deck in deep thought that morning, paying little heed to the things going on around her and concentrating on staying upright on the rolling deck while sorting through her thoughts. Sherlock was at the helm and Hiccup was out on Toothless, giving her plenty of time to contemplate.

The wind had got up and the ship was moving with it, showing its true nature in the ease with which it cut through the waves. When they got to a series of tiny jagged islands jutting out of the open ocean, uninhabited other than by some terrible terrors that watched the ship with curiosity, Sherlock turned the ship and made it drift at a safe distance from the rocky peaks. He beckoned Hiccup, who was circling over the islands to see if there was anything new to find, back over to the ship. When he landed on the Storm Petrel Sherlock sat him at the helm.

“There’s no challenge in sailing a straight line. The true skill is in manoeuvring with accuracy. We will practice around the islands. You have the helm.”

Hiccup looked a little nervous to start with. While he had messed about in the Viking ships all his life, the Storm Petrel was a different kettle of fish altogether – while she was about the same size she was light, manoeuvrable and capricious, with different rigging altogether, and he did not fancy being the one to make the wrong move and wreck the ship on the rocks. Sherlock put his mind to rest. “I will not allow you to damage the ship. However, there are consequences for stupidity.”

Hiccup stared at him. “Ehm, that’s not helping, Sherlock.” Sherlock just shrugged. “Same as for any crew.”

It became obvious very quickly that without anyone to help, Hiccup struggled to control all the parts of the ship while performing the turns. He just about managed to control the mainsail on the tacks, letting it luff and sheeting it in rapidly as the ship turned, but the jib was left flapping about aimlessly on most turns until he managed to secure the mainsail, often losing either momentum or direction, or both. Sherlock watched him without comment, waiting for him to find a solution. After another failed turn Hiccup turned the boat into the wind and sat back, watching the flapping of the mainsail dejectedly as the ship came to a slow stop. He looked at Sherlock, who just raised an eyebrow and said, “there’s a reason these ships have a crew, Hiccup. It’s not a one-man boat.”

Hiccup scowled. “You seem to manage it OK, you had no issues when we left the harbour.”

Sherlock shrugged. “With a fair wind and on a set course. As I said, straight lines are easy. Besides, I’ve sailed her for far longer than you.”

Hiccup thought a moment, then resolved himself. “Bethany!”

Bethany was on the front deck, doing some mending of her own clothes. She’d followed the goings on at the tiller with half an eye, and tried not to feel too nauseous with all the changes of speed and direction, but other than that she had been happy to be left alone for a while. She put down her work and came over to Hiccup and Sherlock.

Before Hiccup could say anything, Sherlock turned to him. “So, how does she sail?”

Hiccup was confused a moment. “As I said, I can’t turn her without making a mess.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I wasn’t referring to the ship, Master Hiccup. I can feel how _she_ sails with my feet.”

Hiccup looked at Bethany and said, “Oh.” She thought he looked suddenly guilty when he answered, “Well, she manages to get a little ship out of an enclosed harbour pretty well on her own when she puts her mind to it, and she knows how to raise a mainsail.” Bethany looked at him in horror, realising what it was he was telling her. Hiccup sighed. “And, she can keep a ship close to the wind well, too, even if it’s heading straight to one of the most dangerous islands in the archipelago.” He looked at her, and then at his feet. “I’m sorry, Bethany. Ehm... I was never off the island when you thought I was. Toothless and I were watching you pretty much all the time.”

Bethany felt slightly sick as he spoke, realising that what she had thought was an escape attempt had in fact been a trap. She looked at Sherlock. He wasn’t betraying any emotion as he said, “I’d like to think I know what goes on in my own house, Bethany. Stealing provisions and particularly knives does not go unnoticed.”

She stared at the floor, feeling mortified, not sure how to react other than to crumble into another apologetic mess. Sherlock broke the tense silence. “However, apologies have already been made, and Master Hiccup has a job for you.”

She looked at him, thankful for the fact he was happy to allow her to move on, and he acknowledged the apology and gratitude in her face with a nod. She turned to Hiccup, who had pulled himself together.

“Bethany, I need you to do the jib on the turns. Do you know what to do?”

Sherlock showed her when and how to release and tighten the sail on the turns and how to check the mainsail for the correct setting of the jib, half-jokingly stating that if she was going to sleep in crew’s quarters she might as well earn her bunk. They did a few practice turns in open water until Hiccup was happy that he was finally getting somewhere. Then he turned towards the sharp peaks of the little outcrops and practiced his navigation in earnest. He started out carefully, skirting the islands in wide loops while Sherlock pointed out where there were rocks hidden just under the surface, and how to tell by the way the surf broke on them. Hiccup learned quickly enough and started to steer tighter, the ship picking up speed as he took it closer to the wind in sharp turns. Bethany was kept busy controlling the jib sail, her hands reddening from securing and undoing the rough ropes at every turn but feeling excited to be part of this. Finally, after looping the islands many times with increasing bravado, Hiccup performed a particularly sharp turn that saw them edge threateningly close to one of the rocky outcrops. As Hiccup whooped with excitement Sherlock called it a day. “Thank you, Master Hiccup, I prefer my ship in one piece.”

Hiccup grinned at him as he steered them back into open water, not put off in any way. The little dragons from the rocks followed them some distance out of curiosity before returning back to their roosts, and Hiccup called over to Bethany. “Bethany, we’re all done with that. That was great, thank you.” She smiled back at him, happy. The day had certainly taken a turn for the better.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is far too much smut and the writer makes no apologies.

They took it easy after that, Sherlock turning a course that saw them bearing away from the wind and sail at a more leisurely pace. Bethany wondered if he had actually planned a course at all, or whether they were just sailing aimlessly. It certainly seemed far-fetched to spend almost a full day sailing to a few islands in the middle of the ocean that could just as easily be missed if they had gone half a mile or so off course. But then Sherlock never seemed to do anything without a purpose, so the chances were they had done just that. If so, his navigational skills were exceptional.

In the evening Sherlock let the ship drift and got out his violin. Hiccup and Bethany danced, and then they all sat on the aft deck and drank mead, looking up at the stars and sharing songs. Sherlock regaled some tales of daring escapes on the Storm Petrel, and Bethany thought she could get used to this, that if it wasn’t for Sherlock’s disturbing habit of knocking her off balance almost continually and her uncertain status, she would be having the time of her life. As the mead ran through her, warming her to a comfortable glow, she resolved to be less sensitive and take each day as it came. Given how little influence she had over her fate, she thought, she might as well. There was a strange sense of freedom in the thought and she looked over to Sherlock, absentmindedly thinking he looked good enough to kiss there and then, and whether he would let her come to him tonight. When he caught her eye he clearly read her mind and a slow grin spread over his face, but she refused to be cowed by him so easily and held his eye until it became unbearable and she blushed and giggled. Hiccup looked at her. “Am I missing something, Bethany?”

She blushed again. “Master Sherlock is sending wicked thoughts my way, Sir.” Hiccup laughed and shook his head. “Sherlock, you spend half your time winding her up. The poor girl doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going.” Sherlock fixed him a second, and then said dead-pan, “Coming. Definitely.” Hiccup nearly choked on his mead as Bethany went a bright shade of scarlet, unable to contain a fit of embarrassed and slightly drunk giggles. After he’d recovered, Hiccup got up. “Well, that’s enough embarrassment for one night. I will leave you two to it. Don’t make too much noise, though, we all now know sound travels on this ship.”

“As it does in the house, I’m sure,” Sherlock added, suppressing a wicked smile. Hiccup eyed him up a moment, then decided to retaliate. “Yes. Yes it does. Especially the swearing.” He turned to Bethany, giving her a little bow before walking off. “Goodnight, milady.” Sherlock roared with laughter.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany was left speechless and blushing furiously while Sherlock’s laughter died down to chuckles. She was stuck, unable to escape to her bunk because she’d be faced with Hiccup, and hence unable to get away from Sherlock as he was up here on the deck. She thought about just running off to the prow, but Sherlock stopped her before she could even get up. “Stay, Bethany, it is nothing. The boy is learning.”

She sat across from him feeling uncomfortable until he took her hand and dragged her onto his lap. He took a handful of her hair and gently pulled her head back until he had full access to her throat, then proceeded to cover it in kisses and bites until her head spun. She tried to be quiet, aware of the open hatch and Hiccup’s presence just below decks, struggling to suppress the moans welling up in her throat. Sherlock stopped and made her look at him, smiling at her slyly, running a thumb absent-mindedly over her right nipple through the fabric of her shirt. “So, Master Hiccup has made you self-conscious.”

She was finding it hard to focus through the haze of her arousal, but managed to nod. “A little, Sir.” His smile widened. “Well then, I will have to try a little harder.” He pulled her head back again, not quite so gently this time, and she gasped as he resumed kissing her throat with fervour while running his right hand underneath her shirt. Every so often he would put down a bite that must surely leave a mark, his free hand exploring both her breasts, gently pinching her nipples as he went, and she could not hold back the gasps and moans now. He removed his hand from her shirt and rode it up her skirt, running it along the inside of her thigh as she subconsciously opened her legs. He chuckled through his kisses as he ran a long finger over her clit and into her moist sex, eliciting a long moan.

She was dazed as Sherlock suddenly stopped, letting go of her hair and removing his hand from her skirt. She looked at him with a slight frown that made him grin. “Apologies for the interruption, madam, but we will be doing something new.” He stood up, at the same time lifting her and turning her around so that she was kneeling on the seat, suddenly facing the sea. He leant over her back and picked up both her hands, placing them on the railing in front of her while muttering in her ear, “You’ll want to hold onto something.” Then he hitched up her skirt, exposing her bottom, and ran his hand over her bare skin. She shuddered as he came near her sex, realising he had perfect access, and moaned as he first ran one, then two fingers inside her. She pushed back on him in order to get more penetration and suddenly felt his erection on the side of her bottom, hot and hard, and she knew he must have dropped his breeches with his other hand. A quiet expletive escaped her lips as she realised that she was perfectly placed for him to take her in this position, and the reason she was holding onto the railings was just that.

He chuckled at her reaction, removing his fingers and replacing them with the tip of his shaft, hovering just on the edge of her sex, neither in nor out, studying her reactions as he held onto her waist underneath her shirt, his hands strong and comforting and allowing her no backwards movement whatsoever. She swore, desperate for him to enter her and he laughed, reminding her quietly to observe proper protocol when she spoke to him. Under her breath she cursed again, “ _Freya’s fucking cats, Sir._ ”

He entered her then, slowly, and she dropped her head between her arms and let out a loud series of gasps as she realised that at this angle he could go much deeper, to the point where this could be agony, and she suddenly tensed. Sherlock stopped, held his position and waited, gently stroking her back underneath her shirt, running his fingertips over her waist, occasionally turning his hand over so his nails ran pinprick lines of almost-pain over her skin, patient but insistent. She softened to his touch, reminded that he could just force her but hadn’t, that he was allowing her to set the pace even though he was very much in control of her. She moaned again then, pushing back on him and thereby asking him to do as he wished, handing him her total trust.

He took her by the waist again, taking over from her, pushing his length fully into her and waiting a moment so that she could truly feel him as she gasped, taking in the sensation. Then he slowly began to move inside her, slow, deep strokes that made her feel like she was being wholly taken over, right on the edge of almost-too-much. As he gradually increased the speed of his movements, building up the rhythm until she was hanging onto the rails for dear life she lost all sense of here and now, gasping and moaning and throwing out curses that would have made her father blush. Then he suddenly stopped and pulled out, and she cried out in frustration, trying to buck backwards to get him to re-enter her but finding only thin air. She stopped trying, breathing heavily, desperately waiting for him to make another move, but when he did so it only made her whimper. He moved against her, resting his shaft on her bottom, the heat of him palpable but impossibly out of reach. He ran his nails over her back, humming, and she shuddered and cursed, adding a breathless “Sir” when he dug in just that little deeper. He laughed quietly. “That will do for tonight.”

The shocked “No, please, Sir,” escaped her lips before she had time to think, and the realisation that he had reduced her to begging for him to take her made her whimper again. She could physically feel his grin as he spoke quietly. “Ah, she begs. Remember when you were scared I might touch you, Bethany? And where are you now?”

The sound escaping her throat was half sob, half moan, because he was right and they both knew it. He had won so completely that she was entirely lost in him, and she begged him again, with conviction and reverence and a knowledge that there was nothing she would not do for him. He re-entered her slowly as she muttered a stream of thanks and obediences, submitting herself completely as he built up the rhythm of his thrusts until she could barely hold on, oblivious to her surroundings. It wasn’t long before she came so forcefully that she felt like she might black out, emitting loud gasps as Sherlock thrust inside her deeply, releasing his own orgasm, adding to the waves coursing through her body.

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock had to help her down the ladder afterwards as her legs would not support her. He held onto her until she had made it to her bunk, then kissed her and bid her goodnight. Then he disappeared into his cabin, and if he was feeling unsteady at all he didn’t show it. Bethany changed by the light of the candle that was beside her bunk, basking in her post-orgasmic glow, not thinking about much at all. When she looked across to Hiccup’s bunk absentmindedly she met his eyes and realised he had been watching her. She blinked. “Oh.”

Hiccup didn’t say anything back, but just watched her silently. It was hard to read his expression in the half light, and after a while she felt she should say something. “Are you alright, Master Hiccup? I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

Hiccup blinked, and let out a sigh. Then he said, “How does he do that, Bethany? How does he make you feel so...” he thought a moment, then continued, “...so _wild_ that you seem to forget everything around you? I heard you, you were in a different world.”

She was taken aback by the question a little, but the night’s experience had left her with very few cares. She found it hard to really answer him, though. “I... I can’t really say, Sir. He has ways of touching me. And sometimes not touching me.” She looked around her, not wishing to go into explicit detail. “Master Sherlock seems to be very experienced in the matter, Sir.”

Hiccup didn’t really respond, but just lay there thinking. Finally he said, “You look beautiful.”

She wanted to go over to him and kiss him, but she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, and she was also quite sure her judgment was off. So she just said, “Thank you, Sir.” He looked at her a while longer and then sighed, and rolled over with a “Goodnight, Bethany.” She went to bed herself then, wondering about the strange conversation, and whether Sherlock had overheard it.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany gets a chance to learn a new skill, and there is rather too much alcohol.
> 
> Bonus double length chapter as I didn't post yesterday :-)

The following morning Hiccup had gone out on Toothless before Bethany and Sherlock got up and Sherlock picked her up on it. “So, what insights did Master Hiccup have last night? I’m sure we kept him awake.”

 _So that was planned_ , she thought, wondering why she was even surprised. She repeated the conversation back to him. “I wasn’t sure what to do, Sir.”

He considered it a moment. “What you did was fine. We have plenty of time.”

Bethany nodded, still feeling uncomfortable about being part of Sherlock’s scheme. She didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, however, as Sherlock made her help him ready the ship for the day since Hiccup was not available. She’d seen it done often enough, and they had hauled in the sea anchor and readied the sails quickly. Sherlock spent some time inspecting Bethany’s knots and apparently found them passable, as he did not comment on or correct them. She was quietly pleased with herself but tried not to show it, quite sure that Sherlock would not appreciate smugness. He had a surprise in store for her, however, as he called her over to the tiller once the ship was on course.

“Take the helm.”

She stared at him, not quite sure she’d heard him right. “I’m sorry, Sir, what?”

“You heard me, take the helm, Bethany.”

She was properly worried now. “I... I can’t, Sir. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Sherlock looked at her sternly. “Bethany, on a ship with this few people I cannot afford a crew member that doesn’t know how to steer. Especially since Master Hiccup has a tendency to disappear for hours on his dragon, Loki forbid a situation should arise that demands my attention elsewhere on the Storm Petrel and leaves nobody left to control it. I would rather be prepared. Besides, she’s my ship, and as her captain it’s my decision whether it’s appropriate or not.”

She swallowed, suddenly realising she was under command and that this was not a request. She took the tiller gingerly, scared she might damage the ship in some way. Sherlock changed her hands around and showed her how to use her body weight to aid in the steering, calm, businesslike. Although the ship was sleek she was heavy to control, and Bethany realised quickly that there was a need to be forceful rather than careful. She had no time to consider his close proximity as anything else but reassuring, having to keep all her focus on the job in hand.

Thankfully the wind had dropped from the previous day, and she performed the slow zig-zags that Sherlock prescribed with increasing confidence, feeling quite incredulous to be controlling a ship of this size, even if it was only in baby steps. She spontaneously laughed at the comparison with her dad’s little fishing boat, which she had enjoyed playing with but which was only suitable for skirting the coast of their island on calm days. This was something else. Sherlock smiled at her laughter, finding her almost childish joy infectious. While she continued practising he sat back and looked at the sky, watching a flock of timberjacks slowly cross above the clouds, humming a song she didn’t recognise. It was peaceful, and amazing, and she felt happy to her core.

\--oOo--

At the end of the morning Toothless came hurtling towards the ship across the sea surface at an astounding speed, turned three sharp loops around it and landed sharply on the deck. Hiccup whooped as he landed, looking flushed and elated. It had clearly been an excellent flight out. He spotted Bethany at the tiller and raised his eyebrows in mock amazement. “Trying to take my place so quickly, Bethany? I was only gone a few hours.” Sherlock didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I need at least one crew member that is guaranteed to actually be on the ship, Master Hiccup.” He didn’t sound amused.

“Yeah, well, I needed to think.” Hiccup didn’t elaborate further, and Sherlock didn’t push it. Instead he said, “If you would do the honours on the jib sail, Master Hiccup, the girl can practice some turns.”

Hiccup complied, and Bethany tried her best to control the ship in a figure of eight. Her first tack was disastrous. having not taken account of the weight of the boom as it swung across she lost control of the ship as it suddenly rolled, and it quickly lost momentum and turned back against the wind, leaving the main sail flapping uselessly and the ship adrift. Sherlock helped her get back on course and talked her through the same turn the second time, and she managed to steer the ship on its new course without making another mistake, although her hesitancy meant they lost considerable speed. Again and again they went round, until her arms ached and her body shook, but as the day went on her tacks became smooth and without major errors. Finally Sherlock called it a day and gave her the rest of the afternoon off. She felt immensely proud as she lay flat on her back in her bunk, her body heavy with exhaustion, grinning mindlessly at the ceiling.

\--oOo-- 

When she woke it was almost dark, and she realised with a shock she had fallen asleep and missed dinner. As fast as her aching body would let her she clambered up the ladder onto the deck, ready to make effusive apologies. She found Sherlock and Hiccup sitting cross-legged on the deck with the sails already furled, surrounded by four oil lamps, playing a game with bone dice. A couple of dirty plates were stacked next to Hiccup, and the men had a jug of ale that appeared nearly finished. When she arrived Sherlock looked up and grinned. “Here comes the slave, ready to pour forth apologies. Fear not girl, we have eaten and are currently distracted, and there will be no punishment.”

Bethany muttered a thank you, noticing that they both appeared decidedly drunk. She cleared the plates and busied herself below decks for as long as she felt she could get away with, then quietly climbed back onto the deck and kept herself out of the way. After a while Sherlock caught her eye, raising an eyebrow when he registered her tension. “Ah, the girl fears we will do inexcusable things in our inebriated state, Master Hiccup. In her defence, she has had a bad experience, and I have a bad reputation.” He chuckled. “Come and sit with us, Bethany. I vow upon my honour that I will not touch you.”

Hiccup giggled. “Sherlock, that vow is worth nothing to you. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Bethany was smiling now. For all their drunk antics, they were funny. Even so she kept her distance.

Sherlock reconsidered, looking at the sky. “Fine. You are probably right, Master Hiccup. I vow upon the excellent ship Storm Petrel that I will not touch you, girl, and may she sink if I do. As for Master Hiccup, he is pure and chaste and requires no such vow.”

Hiccup laughed as Bethany finally relented and sat down with them, at what she believed was a safe distance from Sherlock. In response Sherlock passed her his beer, and after some thought she drank it. He was either going to keep his promise or not, and any beer that she drunk would be less for him, and hence increase the chance that he would. It tasted funny and she gathered that he’d probably cut it with something stronger. It would certainly explain the state of them.

Hiccup picked Sherlock up on his comment, after some thought. “Thanks, I think, Sherlock. And can I just say that I have noticed your attempts at corrupting me, and that you will most definitely fail. I refuse to be lured into your schemes.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “By Loki, the boy is cleverer than he looks. Madam Bethany, we must either redouble our efforts, or become more subtle. I am not sure which of the two.”

 _So much for not mentioning anything to Hiccup_ , Bethany thought. But she considered it fortunate in a way; trying to deceive him didn’t sit well at all with her, and at least if he was aware of Sherlock’s motives he could make his own choices. She noticed Sherlock was staring at her. “Well, girl, which one should it be?”

She shook her head, not willing to be drawn out. The beer had gone straight to her head, making her bolder. “I would not dare to say, Sir, as I do not have enough experience in the matter.”

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. “A politician’s answer. Even my slaves are turning on me. Master Hiccup, I am merely trying to educate you as your father requested.” He took his mug back from Bethany, looked into it and, finding it disappointingly empty, made a show of refilling it, topping Hiccup up at the same time.

Hiccup was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to focus on what Sherlock had just said. Then he burst into giggles. “Oh By Odin, Sherlock, I really don’t think my dad would expect you to educate me in...” he looked at Bethany, waving a hand through the air, desperately trying to find the right words, nearly choking on his laughter. “Eh, matters of the flesh.” He giggled until he was nearly crying. “Oh the Gods, he would be mortified.”

Sherlock chuckled. “More fool him for sending you to me.” He drank half his mug, then passed it over to Bethany, who finished it again, noticing that this stuff seemed to go straight to her legs.

Hiccup shook his head, slowly calming down from his giggling fit. “Thanks for the offer, Sherlock, but I’m sure I’ll muddle my way through. Besides, I’ve read the books.” He giggled again.  “What can possibly go wrong.”

Sherlock stared at him in drunk disbelief, trying to work out whether Hiccup was serious or not. “Books, boy? Anatomy, mechanics? You can’t learn this stuff from _books_.” He reached out a long arm, pulling Bethany onto his lap, responding to her shocked expression by holding up his index finger. “Let me briefly demonstrate.”

He bunched up her hair in one hand, exposing her neck. “Boy, there isn’t a book in the world that will tell you if you run your hand over their neck like _this_ ,” He ran his fingertips over the nape of her neck onto her shoulders, sending shudders through her, “or kiss them like _this_ ,” he slowly kissed her neck, placing little bites as he went, turning her head slightly as he reached her throat. She put her head back involuntarily, closing her eyes. Sherlock stopped and finished his sentence, “They go like this.”

He let go of her. Bethany took a moment before slowly opening her eyes and putting her head back down, looking straight at Hiccup’s fascinated face, a little dazed. Sherlock held his hands up and declared, “That’s it, done touching.” She wasn’t sure what to do for a moment. Running away seemed excessive, especially because what Sherlock had done had been very nice indeed. Hiccup didn’t appear to be offended either, so she simply slid off Sherlock’s lap onto the deck, ending up sitting between his legs. He laughed quietly, loosely wrapping his arm around her. “And if you do it really well, they stay.”

\--oOo--

They slept on the deck that night under the stars, Hiccup curled up with Toothless and Bethany draped across Sherlock’s chest, listening to his steady breathing as she drifted off, thinking that there was no place on Earth she would rather be.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is feeling a little worse for wear. Bonus hangover chapter for the day ;-)

She woke in the morning to the sounds of somebody being sick, and found Hiccup hanging over the railings looking extremely sorry for himself, with Toothless looking on worriedly. Dawn had broken cold and still and foggy, and the sun was only just creeping over the horizon, making it very early. Underneath her Sherlock was fast asleep, looking relaxed and beautiful, his usually stern features softened in rest. She carefully unwrapped his arm from her waist and sat up, nearly crying out as her head threatened to explode in pounding agony. Once again she wondered what Sherlock had put in the ale as she gingerly got up and made her way below decks to fetch Hiccup a mug of water, having a long drink herself while she was at it. Back above decks Hiccup received her offering gratefully. “Urgh, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bad in my life. I think he’s trying to poison us.”

They sat with their backs to the railings and watched the sunrise together for a while, neither of them feeling like saying much, or indeed moving at all. When Sherlock finally awoke he, too, sat up and looked pained a moment, frowning as he looked across to the two sickly looking young people at the railings. “Too much Vodka,” he muttered as he rubbed his head and got up, unsteadily making his way down the little ladder below decks. He was gone so long Bethany wondered if he’d just gone to bed, but eventually he returned holding two mugs, passing one to Hiccup. “Share it with the girl.”

Hiccup eyed the mug suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Hangover cure, my own recipe. Drink it.” Sherlock emptied his mug in one long swig and grimaced.

Hiccup hesitated a moment before emptying half the mug with a look of pure disgust on his face, then slammed it on the deck as he abruptly started coughing heavily, his hands casting around for the water. Bethany quickly picked up the mug before he could knock it over. She looked at the drink, swishing it round in the mug a bit. The liquid was gloopy and thick, with a gunky colour that she couldn’t quite name, but that did not look in any way wholesome. It smelled of herbs and of something else she couldn’t quite place. Figuring that she couldn’t feel much worse anyway, she drank it.

Her mouth and throat suddenly felt like they were on fire, and she joined Hiccup in a coughing fit as she started to break into a sweat. Hiccup had begun to recover by now, being able to speak again through his coughs. “By the Gods, Sherlock, what on Earth did I just drink?”

Sherlock grimaced again. “Master Hiccup, you are too loud this morning. Eggs, mainly, salt, and some herbs, willow bark extract, and a healthy dose of Arabian black pepper.”

Hiccup was visibly sweating. “Wow. Is it meant as a deterrent? Or to make you feel so bad that you forget about your hangover?” Despite feeling awful, Bethany had to laugh through her coughs.

Sherlock scowled. “I will not be quite so keen to help you next time, Master Hiccup, and will enjoy watching you empty your guts overboard for a day.”

\--oOo-- 

They did very little that day, although Sherlock’s concoction did make them feel better after a while. Sherlock spent some time teaching Hiccup how to navigate the ship on the jib only, which meant that they were not going at any speed, just quickly enough not to rock aimlessly on the waves. It suited all of them. Bethany felt nowhere near as bad as the men, having drunk relatively little, and it fell to her to do all of the daily chores as well as helping Hiccup with the sail when required, and providing food and drink and any other thing they asked for. By the end of the afternoon she was tired and short-tempered, trying to hide her resentment of Sherlock and Hiccup who had done nothing but sit by the tiller all day. When she put down two new drinks for them slightly too forcefully, Sherlock put her in her place, not being in a mood to be tolerant. “A reminder of your status, girl. You are merely doing your job, and a light one at that. I am more than happy to make you work harder if I felt it would improve your attitude.”

She apologised, reminding herself that taking him for granted was unwise at the best of times but an especially stupid move today. She resolved to be more careful.

\--oOo--

By the evening Hiccup felt well enough to fly Toothless for a while. The dragon had become increasingly restless during the afternoon as his master had been unwilling to take him out, pacing backwards and forwards on the deck and knocking things over with his long tail until Sherlock had had enough of it and threatened to make him into steaks, and his hide into new boots. Toothless settled down under protest after that, but every time there were dragons flying overhead he would look accusingly at Hiccup and whimper. Eventually Hiccup relented, still looking a little green. “Come on then, bud. Just go steady, OK?”

They were not out long. Within minutes Toothless came hurtling back, Hiccup looking extremely agitated. “Seashockers, Sherlock. A whole big pod of them, heading straight to us.”

Sherlock’s response was surprising. “Ah.” He let go of the tiller and sprang off his seat, shouting at Bethany to lower the jib sail. He ran to the mast and climbed up it with an ease that could only come from years of practice. Once at the spar above the main mast he looked out in the direction that Hiccup had flown in from and grinned.

Hiccup had watched Sherlock with increasing concern. “I don’t know what’s so funny, Sherlock. They could quite easily capsize the ship and kill us all. Have you seen the size of the one at the front?” Sherlock shook his head. “No, not this group. I know them.” He climbed down the mast again, stood by the railing, and waited.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are dragons.

The dragons came in swiftly, their dorsal spikes moving threateningly through the water as they dived and resurfaced. After lowering the sail Bethany had run to the mast, figuring it was the place furthest removed from the water, while Hiccup had moved next to Sherlock with Toothless beside him. The Nightfury looked ready to strike at the slightest sign. He had his ears back and was emitting a low, threatening grumbling noise, keeping his eyes fixed on the leader of the pack as it made its way directly to where Sherlock and Hiccup were standing.

Hiccup looked extremely nervous. “Ehm, Sherlock, I know you seem supremely confident but shouldn’t we be trying to get out of here? They don’t look friendly.”

Sherlock smiled. “They are not. But then, neither am I.” He hopped onto the railing, swinging his legs over as he went, ending up hanging onto the side of the ship with one hand holding onto the ropes. Just as the largest of the dragons surfaced he let go, taking a leap off the side of the ship and landing gracefully between the dragon’s two vicious-looking heads.

Hiccup cried out and tried to grab Sherlock as he went, but was left looking down in horror. It was too much for Bethany, who feared that Sherlock had met with a sudden and high-voltage death, and she made her way to where Hiccup was standing, shaking, and forced herself to look down.

Sherlock was kneeling on the back of the giant beast, leaning over to stroke its twin heads in turn. The dragon was floating by the side of the boat letting out contented cries, seemingly ecstatic to see him. Hiccup was momentarily speechless. “What...” Sherlock looked up. “Master Hiccup, girl, this is Stormseeker. An old friend.”

The dragon roared, a deafening sound coming from both its heads, and jumped forward in a great leap, thrashing its tail from side to side as it went. Hiccup yelled Sherlock’s name and jumped onto Toothless, who was already airborne before he was even in the saddle, chasing the seashocker along the surface, leaving Bethany standing at the railing of the ship feeling completely helpless.

It wasn’t long before Toothless caught up with the seashocker, as it was a weak flyer that used a gliding motion, powering itself by beating its powerful tail in the water whenever it lost height. Bethany couldn’t make out what was happening very well, but it became clear quickly that there was not actually an emergency. Toothless circled the dragon a few times and then glided slowly alongside it as they performed a circle around the ship, the contrast between the great blue beast and the smaller black shape of the Nightfury striking. She could see Sherlock on the large dragon, down on one knee behind its head, seemingly perfectly at home. The other seashockers followed their leader at a distance, breaking the surface every so often in leaps and somersaults that saw them smashing back into the waves with deafening slams. To Bethany, it looked joyful.

The dragons finished their circuit and returned to the ship, Toothless landing smoothly on the deck, Stormseeker flying close over the side of the Storm Petrel allowing Sherlock to jump off lightly. He was grinning from ear to ear as he landed next to Bethany, facing Hiccup and Toothless. Hiccup jumped off and ran to the railing, watching the dragon as it once more hit the water and dived, leaving a trail of foam and bubbles as it disappeared below the surface, coming back up some distance away, rising vertically out of the water to a great height and crashing back into the sea with the sound of thunder. The waves it created rocked the Storm Petrel from side to side, nearly throwing Bethany over as she tried to hang onto the railings. Sherlock laughed and grabbed her arm before she fell, making sure she stayed upright. He looked at her and grinned, looking free, and wild, and happy, and so much larger than life. She smiled back at him, feeling small in comparison, thinking that she really was just a tiny and insignificant part of his life, but grateful for being able to share a little bit of it.

\--oOo-- 

The pod stayed with the ship as night fell, slowly circling below the surface. Hiccup hung over the railing with Bethany, watching the patterns of their luminescent bodies as they coasted through the water, while Sherlock stood some distance away towards the prow, examining the heads of his dragon as it flapped slowly by the side of the boat, body half in, half out of the water. Hiccup had tried going over to it, but it had hissed and snapped at him and Sherlock had told him to stay clear. He didn’t need to be told twice, and they watched in fascination as the dragon let Sherlock check it over, turning its heads this way and that as he touched them while softly humming a song. It was only then that they realised it was missing an eye, on the inside of its right head. Sherlock took a small jar from his coat pocket and applied some of its contents to the empty socket. “If you want that treated properly you should actually visit,” he grumbled at Stormseeker, who responded with a series of noises that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Sherlock shook his head, looking for all the world like a concerned parent. “All done, my girl. Go and see your friends.”

The dragon gave a roar as it reared out of the water and flipped backwards into the sea, whipping its tail through the waves as it landed and turned, covering all three of them in a great splash of salt water. Sherlock scowled as he shook his coat dry. “She means thank you.”

Hiccup was bursting with questions, of course, and could hardly contain himself. Sherlock humoured him as they watched the pod perform their acrobatics, their luminous bodies lighting up the night sky when they jumped clear of the water. “I found Stormseeker some ten years ago, further north from here, around the coast of Svalbard. She had been shot by dragon hunters but had managed to escape, badly injured and with arrows piercing her in several places. They were following her at a distance, waiting for her to weaken so they could move in on her safely. These were killers, mind you, who were hunting for trophies. We had occasionally seen the remains of their hunts – badly maimed dragons, their bodies discarded to the elements, and with often only the head or claws or teeth missing. The trophies would find their way south to the lowlands and Brittannia and beyond, to the houses of the fat and wealthy that had never even set eye on a dragon. I had vowed to deal with them if the opportunity arose but they operated in small ships that were hard to trace, hiding in the myriad of coves around the northern islands and changing their bases frequently, and although I detested them I did not consider them a priority. However, we came upon them during this particular hunt and managed to outmanoeuvre them with some effort, and none of them lived to tell the tale.”

He stopped a moment, watching Stormseeker as she got caught up in a chase with three or four other seashockers, making the ship rock as they passed underneath at great speed. He smiled. “Afterwards, we found Stormseeker and I healed her as best as I could while we made camp in a nearby cove. Unfortunately I was unable to save her eye.” He looked at the sky as he mulled over the memory. “However, as you can see she appears to do well without it, although it is a source of discomfort to her. Over time she became the leader of this pod, and she was my companion for the years before I retired, but she is fickle and would sometimes disappear for weeks, taking the others with her. Sadly she is too proud to visit me at home, although I hope one day she will reconsider.”

They watched the dragons in silence for a while, until Hiccup voiced the question that had occurred to Bethany, too. “What I don’t understand, Sherlock, is that we hear so many stories about you, you know, as a pirate, but that none of them involve the dragon. I don’t understand. I would have imagined she’d have become a thing of legend.”

Sherlock regarded him seriously a moment. “There are no survivors to tell stories in an attack involving twenty seashockers, Master Hiccup. You of all people should realise that.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany makes an unexpectedly pleasant discovery.

The dragons stayed with them over the next two days, following the ship as it sped through the water, the slow undulation of their fins belying the speed they were travelling at. Hiccup spent much time hanging over the railings to study them, or following them on Toothless, even though Sherlock had warned him that he could give no guarantees about his safety if he did so. He did not seem to care, relying on Toothless' agility to get him to safety every time one of the beasts jumped out of the water at him, roaring and snapping its beaks. Bethany, on the other hand, stayed as far away from them as she could, spending most of her time below decks or close to Sherlock, who made no comment. It was only in the evenings when they furled the sails that she would go and see the seashockers at play, because they were fascinatingly beautiful as their glowing forms sped through the dark waters, and there was a fierce joy in their leaps and splashes and wild chases.

On the second night Sherlock came and stood behind her, his body almost enveloping her, his hands either side of hers on the railing as they stood a little way from Hiccup, who was focused on the dragons’ play. Sherlock had been distant since the night he had taken her on the aft deck and the drunken silliness the evening after, and she found his sudden closeness unsettling, even though he was simply looking out over the sea with her. Her breathing hitched as she wondered what his intentions were, knowing full well by now that he did nothing like this without purpose. He chuckled quietly, keeping his voice low. “Worried, Bethany? I’m just standing here, I’m not even touching you.” She made a little noise when he suddenly lowered his mouth to her ear and said quietly, “But I could be.” He laughed quietly again. “Come and see me in my cabin tonight.”

He walked off as if nothing had happened, leaving her to collect her shaky thoughts and wondering if Hiccup had noticed the exchange, but he was still staring out over the water, watching a smaller seashocker perform a graceful somersault before crashing back into the sea. She closed her eyes and attempted to steady her breathing.

\--oOo-- 

She hung around on deck after the men went to bed that night, not sure what to do, hoping Hiccup might be asleep by the time she made it below decks. Eventually, however, it became obvious that she was going to have to make a move unless she wanted to upset Sherlock, so she took a deep breath and made her way down the ladder.

Hiccup was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, and turned to say hello. She found it hard to meet his eye. “Master Hiccup.”

He frowned. “Are you alright, Bethany? You were a long time on deck.”

She blushed. “I’m... I’m fine, Sir. Ehm... Master Sherlock has requested my presence in his cabin tonight.”

Hiccup stared at her for a moment, and then said, “Oh.” Then he realised why she had waited such a long time. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bethany. Here. I’m asleep.” He closed his eyes and started snoring loudly. She couldn’t help but giggle. “Thank you Sir. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

He stopped his little act, and looked at her kindly. “No need to be sorry, Bethany. I’m sorry you were put in that position.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Go. You don’t want to get into trouble on my account.”

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup had rolled over towards the hull so that she was free from further embarrassment, and Bethany silently thanked him for his sensitivity. She carried on towards the captain’s cabin, and knocked. Sherlock called her in. “Come.”

She entered quietly, closing the door behind her. Sherlock was sitting at his desk, poring over a map by the light of two oil lamps and several candles, taking measurements with a set of brass instruments she didn’t recognise and writing down notes on a piece of paper with a goose feather pen. He didn’t acknowledge her as she entered so she waited aimlessly, looking at the walls and the overflowing bookshelves, the small windows looking out over the sea that were now an almost absolute black, and at Sherlock sitting there in deep concentration. It was fascinating seeing him work, and she watched him with interest. Eventually he finished, carefully put his instruments away and turned around. “Bethany. You took your time. However, it appears your little ploy has failed and Master Hiccup is still very much awake.”

He stood up and walked over to her, studying her a moment as he let what he had said sink in, allowing her to realise she had overstepped the mark. She swallowed, realising she might well be in trouble as he carried on, “I would appreciate it if you were more prompt next time. I care not for your embarrassment, or Master Hiccup’s for that matter. You will come when I request your presence.”

She looked at the floor, mortified. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Indeed, you may yet be,” he said, slowly walking around her. She wanted to disappear, fear for what the consequences might be of her selfish act coursing through her. Sherlock stopped in front of her. “But that depends entirely on your attitude to what we are doing tonight.”

She looked at him, trying to work out what he meant, but his face was closed and she could not read him. It did not reduce her fears in any way. “So, tonight you will return me a favour,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head, drawing her attention once more to the myriad scars covering his lean body, marks of a life led fully and dangerously, and it only made her more apprehensive. Stepping out of his boots he undid his breeches, dropping them on the floor and ending up standing in front of her completely naked. She was not sure where to look. “You may use your hands and your mouth, and I expect you to be creative.”

She stared at him with open mouth. “What, Sir...?”

Sherlock sighed. “Bethany, you have been on the receiving end of this plenty of times. It is now your turn.” When she still looked utterly dazed, he narrowed his eyes. “Just so we are clear on this, you did actually have girlfriends when you grew up. You did discuss these things.”

She opened and closed her mouth, and then said, her voice wavering, “With respect, Sir, I don’t understand.”

Sherlock blinked. “I am talking about the things that you can do to a man’s body, and his manhood, Bethany. With your hands, and especially with your mouth. You must have talked about this with your friends.”

She blushed, her voice tiny when she answered. “Ehm... I always thought it was a joke, Sir. The mouth thing. I couldn’t imagine...” her voice trailed off as she looked at him. “Oh.”

Sherlock sighed, and smiled, shaking his head slightly. “It is a curious thing that Master Hiccup managed to pick somebody with even less knowledge and experience of these matters than himself. Well, tonight you are going to find out that it is indeed not a joke.”

She looked at him and swallowed, and his smile broadened as he stepped up and kissed her deeply, pulling her into him as she wrapped her arms around his back, her hands on his skin, exploring his body. It seemed strange to be the one who was fully dressed when it had often been him, and even stranger that she still felt equally vulnerable while he was in control regardless of his nakedness. Sherlock broke off the kiss and looked at her. “There is no reason you should not enjoy this, Bethany. People do.”

While she doubted it, she wasn’t about to tell him. He had clearly read her thoughts though, as he smiled again and said, “Only one way to find out.” While she was relieved he had softened it was still clear to her that this was a prompt, not a vague observation. She looked at him uncertainly and he gave her a little nod.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus, trying to think about what had made her feel good, how she might turn the things he did to her into things she could do to him, what he might enjoy. She moved her hands from his back to his chest, stroking him thoughtfully as she went with light fingertips, feeling the muscle and scars, the changes in texture as she crossed his ribs, the sparse hair on his chest, the darker skin of his nipples, and she found herself drawn in to just exploring his body in a way that she had never been allowed to do before. There was no fear in it, and she almost laughed in surprise as she realised that yes, clearly, there was joy in simply caressing his skin like this, placing kisses where they would feel good, running her tongue around his nipple in the same way that he had done so often with hers, kissing his throat and neck and finding him sensitive and responsive in much the same way that she was.

He had closed his eyes and placed his fingers lightly on her shoulders, his fingertips giving her encouragement through light presses and squeezes as she went, a long finger occasionally, distractingly, stroking her neck. After a while he gently pushed her, a clear request to move further down and she complied, running her hands over his body and following her fingers with kisses as she slowly knelt down on one knee. He was hard, and she could feel the heat of him near her face as kissed his stomach, her fingers exploring along the soft skin of his waist and towards his loins. He shuddered as she touched his shaft, his hands squeezing her shoulders as she sat back a little and considered this part of his body which had brought her pleasure but she had never actually seen close up. She ran her fingers over him, noticing the soft skin over his hardness as she could hear his breathing deepen at her touch, and she was surprised to find that she did not feel apprehensive but instead felt a sense of wonder and not a little arousal.

She didn’t even think about her previous disquiet anymore when she dropped onto her other knee and kissed him, starting at the base of his shaft and slowly working her way up, drinking in his scent as she did so. As his arousal was growing so was hers; to have a little bit of control over his reactions and the opportunity to touch him as she wished after months of being manipulated and restrained felt like freedom, and it was intoxicating. As she got to his tip she stopped a moment, wondering briefly what he would taste like and whether she might hurt him with her teeth, and then she closed her eyes and kissed him, taking him into her mouth as she did so, tasting salt and musk as she held onto his hips with her hands. Above her Sherlock gave a deep sigh as he dug his fingers into her shoulders, and she responded by slowly beginning to move her head backwards and forwards, sliding him into and out of mouth as far as she felt she could take him.

He moved his hands to her head, running his fingers through her hair as she kept going, and she could feel the tension in him – the calm and controlled part of him fighting with the part that just wanted to grab her hair and force her onto himself, consequences be damned, as every so often he grabbed some of her hair then let it go again. She stroked his stomach and inner thighs to convey her trust and redoubled her efforts, and listened to his breathing shortening as she did so. His fingers now tangled themselves into her hair as she took him deeper again, nearly gagging as his excitement grew and she wondered how much more of him she could take. As she was thinking about it she had an idea and she ran the tip of her tongue over the underside of his shaft, then circled the tip as she nearly let him go. He shuddered and grabbed her hair. “Stop.”

She let him go and looked up, wondering if she had done something wrong, but he smiled down on her, looking flushed and a little surprised. Then he took her hands and made her stand up, still breathing heavily. “That is as far as we will take that tonight. That was... good.” She smiled. “Thank you, Sir. I enjoyed that after all.” He grinned, then picked her up and put her down into his cabin bed roughly, quickly following after and hitching her skirt up as he went, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. He entered her without ceremony as she gasped in surprise, and he kissed her stunned face as he ripped her shirt open with the other hand, running his fingers over her naked flesh nails first, and then bit her neck. She bucked with the surprise of it and he met her movement, thrusting deeply into her and then carrying on in a steady, forceful rhythm as he took over her body in a whirlwind of sensations that made her forget where she was until she came gasping, and he came with her, his teeth leaving a mark in her shoulder that took several days to fade.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany suffers from a distinct lack of discretion.

The next morning Bethany was briefly disorientated when she woke. Light was streaming in through the windows in the captain’s cabin, and she stared at the maps and books nearly spilling out of the shelves across the room from her in confusion a moment until the events of the previous night came back to her. She rubbed the shoulder where Sherlock had bitten her absentmindedly and found it still a little painful, but she considered it a small price, and nothing in comparison with the story his own skin told. Then she rolled over.

Sherlock was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of his bunk, apparently deep in thought. He didn’t acknowledge Bethany in any way and so she just lay there, looking at him, thinking that his face was perfect and the way his hair fell almost over his eyes, just so, was delicious. Without thinking about it she ran her fingers along the side of his body, just to feel him, and when he did not protest she did it again with the back of her hand and followed it with a row of kisses. He did not respond and she wondered if he had even registered what she was doing while she kissed her way down to his hips, until she met his hand lying on the bed and he simply lifted two fingers, briefly touching her face as she came past. She took it as all the encouragement she needed, and moved her kisses from his hips onto his stomach, pushing back the furs on the bed as she went and finding him hard.

She smiled as she remembered her comments from the night before, thinking her childish ignorance had indeed been silly as she started kissing him around his shaft and going onto the inside of his leg instead, her hair brushing him as she went and eliciting a shudder. She made her way back up along the other leg and onto his stomach again, running her hand along his erection and then taking a hold of it as she sat up, wondering again at the hardness under his soft skin, running her thumb around his tip, moist and sensitive and inviting. She looked across at Sherlock’s face. He had closed his eyes and was breathing deeply, just existing in the moment and she smiled and leant down, taking him into her mouth, moving her head around and playing her tongue around his tip while she held his shaft firmly in her hand, wondering what sensations she was setting off in his body as he began to move his hips to meet her as she went down.

He took over the rhythm then, lightly stroking her hair as he thrust into her mouth, her hand on his shaft preventing him from going too deep and adding to his sensation. She found it strange that this act would arouse her so much but it did, and she found herself desperate for him to touch her in some way, but he kept his hands on her head, lost in his own world that consisted exclusively of her bringing him pleasure. She moaned with frustration as his excitement built, and he chuckled and moved his hand just far enough to stroke her face as she took him in deeper, acknowledging her request and refusing to yield to it. He was close to orgasm now, and his thrusts were getting stronger and harder for her to contain even with her hand in place, hitting the back of her throat on occasion and almost making her gag. Suddenly he took a handful of her hair and pulled her off him, and before she could think of why, he came. She could feel the semen coursing underneath her hand as he covered her face and hair in the warm liquid, and she lay in surprise, wondering what else she could have expected as underneath her Sherlock chuckled quietly. She sat up and tasted the liquid on her face as he watched her with an amused smile, and found the taste salty and tangy not altogether unpleasant. She wiped her face with her ripped shirt and Sherlock looked her over and said, “You need a wash.”

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup wasn’t in his bunk when she walked past it looking like a debauched mess, and she didn’t really give it much of a thought as she made her way up the ladder onto the deck, vaguely clutching the shreds of her shirt over her bosom. She still felt aroused and frustrated, especially since Sherlock had thanked her with a long and meaningful kiss before sending her upstairs with a grin, and so it was in a distracted state that she clambered onto the deck and ran straight into Hiccup, who gave her one look over and turned bright red. He swallowed. “Ehm... Hi Bethany. Eh... are you alright?”

She smiled at him a little dreamily, thinking he looked adorable in his embarrassment. “I’m fine, Sir. I just need a wash.”

“Yeah, well, ehm. Go right ahead. Hold on.” He turned around, almost running to the tiller where there was a pail stowed underneath the seat, coming back at a trot and handing it to her awkwardly, finding it very hard to decide where to look. “There.”

She took it and thanked him, trying – and failing – to maintain some decency with her remaining hand and the shredded shirt. In her aroused state she found his flustering amusing, and she wondered for a brief moment if she would be able to un-fluster him enough to touch her. Then she chased the thought from her mind, remembering what he had said about not wishing to be drawn in.  She turned and went to the railings, unable to suppress the temptation to put a little wiggle in her step.

When she had brought up a pail full of seawater she took off the remains of her shirt, thinking there was no point in keeping it on because it would just get wet anyway, and it was doing a dreadful job of covering her in any case. As an afterthought she took her skirt off as well and hung it on the railing to keep it dry, keeping her back to Hiccup so as not to embarrass him any further. She hoped he would not mind too much looking at her bottom, and the thought made her giggle as she kneeled down and began to wash her face and hair in the salt water. It would be sticky, but it couldn’t be stickier than it was already, she thought.

After a while her curiosity got the better of her and she turned around a little to see if Hiccup was watching. He was, looking a little dazed. To her surprise Sherlock had joined him, looking scruffy but at least dressed, watching her with a barely suppressed grin while leaning against the mast with his arms folded. She blushed and turned around again, biting her lip, thinking she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Behind her she could hear the calm click-click on the deck of him walking over, and she watched his boots as he skirted around her and ended up leaning against the railings next to her, saying, “Bethany Goldfish Eiriksdottir, there is an outrageous amount of flirting going on my deck.”

She looked up in surprise at him using her full name, wondering if she was in trouble, but he was looking at her deviously, a distinct glint in his eye. “When you are done, stand up and turn around,” he said quietly.

\--oOo-- 

It took her a moment to compose her thoughts enough to comply. Then she rinsed her hair one last time and stood up, water dripping from her hair, and faced Hiccup who was still standing in the same spot that she had left him, mouth slightly open. Behind her Sherlock ran his fingers over her wet back, ending with putting a hand on her hip, his touch entirely distracting. “Master Hiccup, come here a moment.”

Hiccup abruptly came back to the here and now. “What... No. No, thanks, Sherlock.”

Behind her, Sherlock sighed. “You tame dragons, boy. Are you really afraid of a _girl_?” He ran his hand up the front of her body, absentmindedly stroking the underside of her breast and giving her nipple a little rub. Bethany gasped, trying to keep some composure but struggling, fighting an urge to close her eyes.

Hiccup gave Sherlock’s slight due consideration. Then he wandered over, standing about a stride away, looking at Bethany as if she was a new species. “No, no, I’m not afraid, Sherlock. I, eh... I just don’t think it’s fair on the girl. Besides, Astrid would kill me.”

Sherlock chuckled and placed a series of kisses along Bethany’s neck and onto her shoulder. She closed her eyes, drawn into Sherlock’s game and honestly too far gone to care, allowing her body to respond to his touch as it wished. “Miss Astrid is a long way away, Master Hiccup, and I am not asking you to dishonour yourself. And as you can see the girl does not appear to mind.”

When she opened her eyes again she found Hiccup studying her with a slight frown. “No. No, apparently she does not.”

“Well then,” Sherlock said, “Allow yourself to acquire some new skills that I am sure the Lady Astrid will appreciate in due course, since we have such a prime opportunity.”

Hiccup looked at Sherlock, still frowning, clearly thinking things over, unavoidably drawn to the easy offering in front of him. He took a little step towards Bethany, scrutinising her face. “And you consent to this, Bethany?”

She looked dreamily at his gentle, concerned eyes, thinking this Astrid was a very lucky girl indeed, and took his hand, touching his fingers to her lips. “Yes, Sir, I consent to this,” she said quietly, and then lowered his hand, placing it softly on her still wet breast, “Please”.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup makes the most of an opportunity offered.

Hiccup stared at her, speechless, and then brought his eyes down to what his hand was touching. His face was wonder as he stroked the soft skin of her breast, gently feeling the different texture of her nipple, sending shudders through her even though he was merely exploring. Behind her, Sherlock placed a gentle kiss on her neck and stepped away, placing himself back against the railings to watch.

Hiccup ran his hand slowly over to her other breast, simply taking in her body, reminding her very much of how she had touched Sherlock the night before. His fingers slowly found their way to the teeth marks on her shoulder and he looked up, somewhat accusingly, across her towards Sherlock. She could hear the shrug in Sherlock’s voice. “I got carried away. She was not complaining at the time.” As Hiccup looked back at her with the same question in his eyes she nodded in acknowledgement, finding it hard to form words, caught up in his wonder. He shook his head, clear in his own mind that he would never do such a thing, and carried on his exploration, stroking her stomach as he slowly made his way down, studying her reactions as he moved towards her mound, stroking the hair but staying tantalisingly clear of her sex as she watched him, breathing heavily, willing him to explore further. He was smiling at her, fascinated to have such an effect, and then his eyes lit up as a thought entered his mind and he leant over, kissing her nipple gently and exploring it with his tongue. Bethany moaned quietly as Sherlock gave a little laugh. “It appears Master Hiccup has been paying attention after all.”

Hiccup let go of her nipple, giving it a little tug as he did so that made her gasp, and looked back at her face, smiling, fascinated, and only a little flushed. He continued his exploration of her body, now moving his hands down from her mound and skimming her clit, making her close her eyes and moan softly, wondering if he would be too embarrassed to take the next step. When he suddenly stopped she looked at him, finding not flushed embarrassment as she might have expected but an intense and somewhat amused focus on her reactions. She closed her eyes again, thinking that of course, this is how he approached everything he did, with a drive to explore and understand and, ultimately, with no real fear of the unknown, however dangerous. Compared to the dragons, compared to the ludicrous stunts he pulled off on Toothless, this was nothing. In his own way he was a force to be reckoned with and she realised that she had underestimated him, that underneath the slightly goofy exterior there was a determination that would be hard to sway once he had fixed on something. She sighed then, giving over to the experience completely, knowing that he would do what he wished because he chose to, and not because anybody made him. He started stroking her again, using both his hands this time, and she stood and shuddered as he moved gradually further down, wondering if her legs would give way.

When he came to her sex he stopped a moment, and said quietly, “Now, I’m going off pictures in books here, so you may need to give me some pointers, Bethany.” She wasn’t sure whether he was serious or teasing her, but in any case she was unable to respond intelligibly. Sherlock moved back behind her again, kissing her softly on the neck, then taking her wrists in one hand so that her arms were held behind her back, his other hand caressing her buttocks. The sensation of both men touching her was almost too much and she moaned again as Hiccup slid a finger between her legs, opening her labia and finding her wet, looking at her in awe as he found his way into her. He explored her wetness, sliding deep inside her, watching the reactions on her face as he did so, adding a second finger to his exploration which made her gasp. Sherlock gave him quiet pointers on how to touch her just so, to slowly build up, how stopping and returning to a previous rhythm could reduce her to moans and gasps, all the while gently holding onto her, occasionally kissing her back or stroking her gently. By the end of it she was unaware of her surroundings, standing with her eyes closed on legs that barely supported her anymore, totally entranced by the experience, pleading quietly for release without any conscious thought. When Hiccup leant down again and kissed her other nipple the unexpected sensation cut through her and she came gasping and bucking, and if it hadn’t been for Sherlock’s strong arms holding onto her she would have collapsed on the floor in a heap.

\--oOo-- 

When she was spent Sherlock gently let go of her, and after attempting to stand up for a moment she slid to the floor, ending up in a kneeling position which, she thought wryly, was probably appropriate. Above her, Sherlock laughed quietly. “Well done, Master Hiccup, you have reduced the girl to a grateful mess. Welcome to the wonders of the female orgasm. Bethany, I believe you owe Master Hiccup your thanks.”

She looked up at him, finding this part very easy indeed, and said, “Thank you, Sir.” Hiccup was looking down on her, clearly contemplating the experience and the effect he had had on her. “No. No, Bethany, thank you.” He took a deep breath in an attempt to return to the present. “Wow. Ok, well, that was something else.” Then he held out his hand to help her up. “Come on, you better get dressed.”

\--oOo-- 

The day that followed was spent in quiet contemplation by all three of them. Hiccup and Sherlock shared the tiller, and Bethany did chores and tried to stay away from the seashockers, enjoying the quiet of study while sitting against the mast, practicing her letters on a sheet of paper. She was beginning to find fluency, forming words and short sentences with increasing confidence, tackling more complex ones from the books that Sherlock had given her for the journey. When she felt she had achieved enough for the day she sat back against the mast and absentmindedly made a small sketch of Toothless who was curled up on the deck, dozing in the summer sunshine. It came out well and she spent some time firming up the lines on the drawing, wishing she had some colour to fill it in with, but pleased with the result anyway. She looked up to find Sherlock walking over to her, and handed him the sheet so he could examine her words. He looked over the runes briefly but spent more time looking at the drawing, handing the sheet back to her with a “Hold on.”

He was gone below decks for a while, and came back with an small, ornate wooden box that looked old and well used. He sat down cross-legged next to Bethany at the mast and undid the thonging that kept the case closed, opening it up to reveal a set of small glass bottles and bowls in the main compartment and a set of metal and wooden pens and brushes on the shallower lid, held in place with a series of leather straps. Then he dug in his pocket and came up with a small leather-bound book, handing it to her. Bethany took it, wondering what it was about, and opened it up to find it was empty. She looked at him questioningly.

“You appear to like drawing,” he stated as if the conclusion was obvious. “You may use the inks as you wish, I have no use for them at present. Besides, there are more at the house.”

She looked at the bottles and saw they were all about half full with inks. It was almost impossible to tell which colour they were through the green glass, but they were labelled in Sherlock’s neat writing and she realised he had given her colours she had no idea even existed. At home the paints and dyes used for the houses and fabrics were red and blue, occasionally drab green, and many shades of earth. Here she had purple and ochre and bright green, and colours that she did not even recognise the name of. The pens were of different widths and gauges and promised to allow all kinds of different lines, and the brushes appeared beautifully fine, made from the hair of marten or sable or some foreign creature she didn’t know of.  This was an item of great rarity and value and she looked at him stunned. “I...” _I couldn’t accept this,_ she thought, _it is not appropriate_ , and all the usual thoughts of not being worthy that she would normally spout, but he regarded her kindly and all that came out of her mouth was, “Thank you, Sir.” He nodded. “When you feel confident, draw me something.”

\--oOo--

She spent the afternoon getting to grips with the inks and the pens, lying on her front on the deck in the warm sunshine, contemplating that not all treasure was gold dubloons and wondering why he had no use for the box of inks anymore. By the end of the afternoon she had created a little drawing of a seashocker in which she tried to capture the two vicious heads and the dangerous spines, the long tail curled around the dragon in order to fit on the page. She had enjoyed using the little glass bowls to thin the inks, and had tried to blend some tiny amounts together but found that the results were mainly unpredictable. So, she stayed with blue and thinned black to capture the essence of the beast, and was rightly proud of the result. Underneath she drew the runes for ‘Stormseeker’ in her best hand. When it was finished she carefully tore out the page and gave it to Sherlock, who accepted it with genuine praise, carefully putting it in an inside pocket. She tried not to show how proud she was.

Hiccup had gone out on a foray on Toothless, and Sherlock got her to sit with him at the other side of the tiller. He seemed in an excellent mood, relaxed and contemplative as he looked out over the sea. “Thank you for your efforts this morning, that was most entertaining.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she just said, “Thank you, Sir. I hope Master Hiccup feels the same.”

Sherlock smiled. “I am sure Master Hiccup feels mostly frustrated. But that is his own choice.”

She smiled inwardly, thinking it was a little unfair of Sherlock to keep them all in such close proximity on the ship for such a long time, and being almost entirely certain that that was at least part of his plan. Beside her Sherlock began to hum a song and she just sat and listened to his beautiful deep voice, watching the waves and the dragons and feeling content.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany gets a bit of a shock and Sherlock communicates his intentions.

On the morning of the next day they awoke to find the pod of seashockers gone. Sherlock made light of it, saying that it was not unlike Stormseeker. “She doesn’t hang around these days. Unfortunately in her view my provision of snacks for her has become very disappointing since I retired.” Hiccup and Bethany looked at him with different degrees of horror, but Sherlock just shrugged and went to raise the mainsail.

Around mid-morning that day Bethany looked at the horizon to see the vague outline of land in the distance. Hiccup was below decks, and when she looked over to Sherlock at the tiller to see if he had noticed, she found him studying her. “Land ho,” he said, quietly. Unsure what he meant she went to the prow, looking at the distant shapes and trying to make out what he might be alluding to. They were heading towards an island, that much was clear, but as they drew nearer she suddenly recognised the outline of the rocky hills, and her heart caught in her throat. She ran around to him, her mouth open in disbelief, a million emotions fighting for prevalence inside of her and not all of them positive. Sherlock was watching her calmly as she stammered, “It’s... it’s Sundvik, Sir. It’s my island.” He smiled at her statement of the obvious. “Welcome back, Bethany.”

Sherlock passed her the tiller and went about the ship, disappearing into the hold. Bethany held the Storm Petrel on course gingerly, not at all sure how she felt about sailing a pirate ship towards her family home, and fighting all the uncertainties that had reared their head in her mind – whether her family and friends were still alive, who else might have been captured in the raid, and what kind of welcome she might expect when they arrived.

Sherlock resurfaced from the hold holding a pile of neatly folded fabric, which he shook out to reveal they were two ensign flags – a larger one which showed a black storm petrel on a light grey background, and a smaller white one. The grey flag looked ominous, made worse by the fact that it showed signs of long and continued use and sported repairs in several places where it appeared to have been slashed by weaponry. It sent shudders down Bethany’s spine knowing that it had signalled fire and death throughout the archipelago for decades. “While I prefer to travel mostly incognito these days, in this case it will be necessary to signal our intentions,” Sherlock said to Bethany’s worried face. Hiccup had followed him out of the hold, looking curiously towards the horizon. “What, _‘We are the stuff your nightmares are made of, we come in peace?’_ Nice message, Sherlock, I’m sure it will work wonders. Where are we?”

As he tied in the flags and hoisted them up, Sherlock looked to Bethany. “Sundvik. The girl can tell you all about it, she grew up here.”

\--oOo-- 

There was a welcoming committee waiting for them in the little port as they carefully navigated into it, although it did not look altogether welcoming. The faces of the men on the wooden moorings were set in fear, and some of them were openly showing weapons. Sherlock, who was no longer in any way scruffy, looking the part of the pirate captain down to the exorbitant lace on his shirt and the shiny buttons on his long coat, girded with two rapiers that were barely hidden, looked them over for a second and then turned to Bethany with a look of disdain. “Do you know these people?”

She peered over the railing, nervous to show her face and be recognised. They were all there, the chief and his second in command, the village scribe cowering in the corner, and a handful of the most burly and quarrelsome peasants of the island. She nodded. “Yes, Sir. The man at the front is the village chief.”

“Hm.” Sherlock looked at them a moment longer. “Any family of yours?”

She was worried where this was going, wondering if he intended to just kill them all. “No Sir,” she said, unable to hide the concern in her voice. He looked back at her, registering her fear.

“Bethany, I am not about to do anything rash. But you will note that they do not appear peaceful, and I need to be sure whether there is anyone I should avoid killing if the situation arose.”

She shuddered, unable to accept his completely callous approach to this. In a small voice she said, “The man at the back, second from the left, is the father of a friend of mine, Sir.”

Sherlock looked again. “Fine. Messy ginger lives.” He called out to Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, lower the gang plank and secure the ship, please. I do not believe we have anything to fear.” To Bethany, he added, “Cast the mooring lines to Master Hiccup. I will keep my eye on the yokels.”

\--oOo--

Even Hiccup had prepared for trouble after giving Sherlock his frank opinion about springing this surprise on Bethany. He’d been angry about it, and had told him to his face that she deserved to be treated better. Sherlock had let him have his rant and then shrugged his shoulders, stating that it had been worth it for the look on her face, and that she would thank him yet for allowing her to find out what had happened to her family. After grumbling his disgust at Sherlock’s incorrigible habit of playing games with people’s lives Hiccup had gone and donned his armour, dragon sword and all.

Now he lowered the gang plank and descended it, closely followed by Toothless who was on full alert, ears back, regarding the rabble of fearful peasants with a look of malice. The appearance of the dragon had caused great disquiet amongst the little group, and the village scribe, a weedy little man who was not in any way armed, had quietly sidled backwards away from the other men and out of the harbour to watch from a distance instead.

Hiccup went about his business as if the men weren’t there, catching the mooring lines that Bethany threw down and securing the ship calmly. The presence of Toothless allowed Bethany some anonymity – all eyes were on the dragon, and nobody took any notice of the blonde slave girl on the ship. When Hiccup was finished Sherlock descended, making Bethany walk in front of him, steering her towards the hostile group with a calm that dripped condescension. He stopped in front of the chief as Hiccup caught up with them, Toothless by his side.

All eyes were on the two men and the dragon, allowing Bethany to sneak a peek at the little group without being noticed. It was strange to look at these men and recognise them, while at the same time feeling a million miles removed from their lives now. She suddenly caught the eye of Inge’s father, who recognised her, his eyes going as big as saucers. Behind her, Sherlock said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen, and thank you for the warm welcome. We have come to trade, and to gather some information”

The chief looked hugely uncomfortable, weighing his response. Eventually he straightened his shoulders, and said, “We know who you are. We have no interest in your trade, Sir.”

Sherlock considered this a moment, absentmindedly running his hand over the heft of his sword. The gesture wasn’t lost on the chief of the village, who swallowed. “Sheep,” Sherlock said suddenly. “We have merely come to purchase some sheep. And to enjoy the hospitality of your quaint little island for a small number of nights.”

Beside him, Hiccup nearly choked, and whispered, _“Sheep?_ Are you _mad_?”

Sherlock turned to him, frowning. “I need some sheep, Master Hiccup, since I do not have a stock of wool and the girl’s clothes are beginning to fall apart. She did arrive with a wholly inadequate wardrobe.” He turned back to the village chief. “I would also be looking to purchase some linen if there is any on the island.”

 _Clever_ , thought Bethany, as all eyes suddenly turned to her. She could see the surprise of recognition in their faces, which quickly turned to a variety of other emotions as they registered her status – distaste, pity, distrust, open hostility. Behind her, Sherlock placed a reassuring hand on her waist and she leant into him a little, trying to keep her breathing steady, wishing there was some way she could just run away from this. Quietly, he said, “The girl is with me. But we would like to speak with her parents, if they live.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany gets some answers.

The village chief was no fool, regardless of his bluster. Faced with the reality of the situation he sent a runner into the village, disbanded the rabble and requested that Sherlock meet with him in the village hall. He eyed Toothless with unconcealed fear, however. Sherlock turned to Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, may I request that your dragon guard the ship while we go about our business?”

Toothless was quite happy to settle back onto the deck now that the immediate threat of violence appeared to have passed, and the little group made its way from the harbour into the village. By now news had spread of the visitors, and small groups of people watched them from a safe distance as they went. There was a lot of weaponry on show, and Bethany noted that the groups contained almost no women and certainly no children. Sherlock paid them no heed whatsoever, following the chief into the village with an easy, relaxed gait that suggested he owned the place, more threatening than any open show of force. Bethany walked in front of him, keeping her eyes on the ground for fear of recognition.

Suddenly there was a commotion as a red-haired girl of about the same age as Bethany came pounding down one past the houses, followed by shouting. She didn’t heed the shouts of warning that followed her approach, running straight up to Bethany and grabbing her hands. “Oh by Freya, it’s really you. Oh Bethany, I thought you were dead.” She burst into tears and flung herself at Bethany, hugging her tightly. Bethany could not contain her own tears as she held her friend, the sudden relief of finding her alive and well overwhelming her. Behind her, Sherlock sighed. “We’re going to have a lot of this, aren’t we.” Hiccup chided him. “Come on, Sherlock, you decided to bring her here. You’re going to have to live with the consequences.”

“No,” Sherlock said, clearly annoyed. “Bethany, kindly let go of your friend. There will be time for that later.”

It took her a second to register what he had said, and then she quickly disentangled herself. “Inge, I’m sorry.”

Bethany’s friend looked at her, confused, and then at the two men standing behind her. As her eye fell on Sherlock her mouth dropped. “Oh the Gods, Bethany, I thought they were joking,” she breathed. She looked at Bethany again, registered her collar, and quietly said, “Oh,” as she went as white as a sheet, taking a step back and looking at Sherlock as if he was a ghost. He returned her a little bow, amused by her reaction. ”While we are here, you may as well introduce your friend to us, Bethany.”

Bethany collected herself as best as she could, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Yes, Sir. Master Sherlock, Master Hiccup, this is Inge. We have been friends since we were little.” She hesitated to make the reverse introduction, reckoning that Sherlock’s notoriety preceded him, and that Hiccup would probably not care. Sherlock, however, did not let her get away with it. “And now please introduce us to your friend. It would be rude not to observe protocol.”

She cast her eyes down, embarrassed, knowing full well that Sherlock was making a point about her status to both of them. Then she took a breath, thinking she might as well face up to the truth and own her status, and maybe stop him playing games with her about it. “Inge, this is Master Sherlock, who acquired me after I was captured in the raids in spring. He has been kind and patient and has taught me many new things, but I must also tell you that any stories you may have heard about him are probably true.” She stopped a moment, wondering if she was going to get into trouble for this. Then she continued. “Master Hiccup is visiting from the island of Berk with his dragon Toothless, and I consider him a friend.”

She turned back to Sherlock, who just raised an eyebrow at her with a look of incredulity. Next to him Hiccup giggled. “Well, as introductions go, Sherlock, that was a pretty good one. You’ve got to hand it to her.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly, and then stepped forward and bowed again to Inge, taking her hand as he did so. He held her eye a moment before he brought it to his mouth and lightly kissed her fingers, smiling slightly at her. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

The girl went from white to bright red in a second, staring at him in stunned disbelief. He held onto her hand just a moment too long and then let it go, chuckling at the look on her face. Then he turned back to Bethany. “Come, I do believe people are waiting for us.”

\--oOo-- 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom in the village hall. For a second she thought they were the first to arrive, but then she realised that there were two people standing against the wall on one side, looking terrified. With a shock she recognised her parents and she made to run to them, only at the very last moment checking herself. She turned towards Sherlock, tears of relief in her eyes. “Master Sherlock, please, permission to greet my family.”

He smiled at her, pleased with her show of loyalty, then kissed the top of her head. “Go and see them, and bring them over to us when you are ready.”

She ran then, into her mother’s outstretched arms, forgetting everything around her for a moment other than the relief that they were alive. She could feel her father’s strong arms surrounding her as they all hugged together, and she cried with great big sobs, releasing the fear of their unknown fate that she had held onto for months as she did so. When she had calmed down a little she looked up at her mother’s tear-stricken face. “I thought I would never see you again,” she breathed through her tears. “Oh mum, I thought you all got killed in the fire. I thought everyone was dead.”

Her mother shook her head, and then pulled her into a hug again, crying once more. “Oh my beautiful girl. I’m so glad  you’re alive.”

They stayed like that for a while, until her mother took a little step back to look at her. She touched the collar around Bethany’s neck with trembling fingers, a hundred unspoken questions in her eyes. Bethany smiled through her tears. “Master Sherlock has treated me kindly, mum. I...” _I am happy_ , she thought, realising that would be too much for them to take in. “It could have been much worse,” she settled on in the end. Her mother studied her face a while. “You look well,” she said eventually, a little surprised. She nodded, turning to her dad, who was looking at her with a face full of concern. He took her hands, looking her over. He had always been a man of few words, and faced with her in this situation he found nothing to say. Instead, he drew her into another hug, stroking her hair.

Eventually she pulled herself away and sighed. “Mum, dad, Master Sherlock has asked me to bring you to him.” When she saw the look of absolute terror in her mum’s face, she added, “He can be kind, mum. He’s not a barbarian.” Then, with a resigned sigh, she repeated Sherlock’s own observation back to her parents. “If he had wanted to kill anybody, he would have done so by now.”

She had to hold her mum’s hand to get her to come with her, and she could feel her trembling as she did so. Her dad squared his shoulders and came despite his terror, determined to face the monster, and Bethany was more proud of him than she could have ever expressed. When they came to the back of the hall, where Sherlock was in quiet conversation with the village chief who seemed to have relaxed a little, Bethany made introductions. “Master Sherlock, Master Hiccup, this is my dad Eirik and my mum, Agnes.” She quietly turned to her parents. “Mum, dad, this is Master Sherlock who you have heard stories about, and Master Hiccup who is travelling with us.”

Sherlock acknowledged her introduction with a nod. Hiccup was sitting to the side, quietly keeping an eye on things, and he greeted her parents kindly, recognising the fear in them. Sherlock turned to her mum and dad, regarding them a moment. She could feel her mum tense in terror, and she had to smile a little, because to her he looked calm, and his voice was gentle when he spoke to them. “Madam, Sir, I would like to compliment you on raising your daughter well. She is a resourceful young lady and has proved useful to me. You should be rightfully proud.”

Bethany hadn’t expected a compliment, and she blushed furiously. Beside her, her mum was looking at Sherlock with her mouth open. Her dad coughed nervously. “Thank you, Sir.”

Sherlock looked back at Bethany, shaking his head ever so slightly, smiling. She could feel his disdain at their easy capitulation, their lack of protest that here he was, with their own daughter as a slave, coming to their own village as bold as brass and complimenting them for raising her well. She found it hard to keep her mouth shut, aching to defend her parents. His smile widened as he registered her internal conflict. “Permission to speak freely, Bethany.”

She took a deep breath, thinking that this was her territory, and he had no right to just come here and deride her parents who were in no way equipped to deal with him. “With respect, Sir, they are terrified. You know as well as I do that there is nobody in this room with the skills to challenge you, not even Master Hiccup, and contrary to what you may believe they are not idiots. They are merely looking after themselves as best they can, Sir.”

She could hear her mum and dad’s simultaneous sharp intake of breath, and wondered for a second if she’d made a mistake. Sherlock held her gaze a moment and then grinned. “Fair point well made.” He looked at her parents again. “As I said, you should be rightfully proud. She is not afraid to speak her mind when necessary.”

He turned to Bethany again. “You are dismissed for the remainder of the day and are free to catch up with your family and friends, but I expect you back at the Storm Petrel at sundown. Make your own arrangements for dinner. I am sure your generous village chief will be glad to dine Master Hiccup and I. Oh, and Sir,” he turned to her father, “In the morning I wish to discuss with you the purchase of some sheep.”

The chief looked neither generous nor glad as Bethany breathed her thanks and left the hall, taking her parents with her, her mum still shaking, her dad silent. Outside she breathed a sigh of relief. Her dad looked at her gruffly, but not without pride, as they walked towards their house. “He is a dangerous man, Bethany. I am surprised you are still alive if that is the way you speak to him.”

She looked at him, wondering what to tell him and what to leave out. In the end she decided it was better not to say too much. “I know, dad. It’s... I’d like to think I know when he’s winding me up. Besides, there’s nothing I can really do, of course, and he knows it.”

“You could run away,” her dad said, bluntly, with only the slightest hint of accusation. Bethany shook her head, revisiting uncomfortable memories. “I tried, dad. It... didn’t end well.” They both looked at her with great concern, and her dad voiced the obvious question. “And he let you live? How...?” It was not something she wanted to tell them about in any detail, and she looked at the ground and sighed. “Master Hiccup managed to... talk him round. But it is not a mistake I would make again.” She showed them the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “There is very little point, in any case.”


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany has a lot of catching up to do.

It was a sombre group that made its way to the little house at the top of the village. Bethany felt happy to be there, but the weight of her fate lay heavy on her parents and she wasn’t sure what to say to them to make them feel better. Their mood was broken when a happy young face peered around the door as they approached and a young girl ran out with a squeal of delight. She was about eight, all blonde frizzy hair and freckles and a great, big smile. She threw herself at Bethany, who was overcome with relief, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Oh, Kari, Oh thank Freya you’re alive, and you’re here.” She turned to her mum and dad, who both looked at the girl with a bittersweet smile. Suddenly her stomach sank. “What of my brothers, dad? Please tell me that Eluf and Hagen are alright?”

Her mother started crying and her dad coughed. “They defended us, Bethany, until their last dying breaths. Eluf rescued Kari from the fire. The raiders...” He waved his hand in the air, overcome with emotion. “There were too many of them, and we weren’t prepared.”

Bethany bit back tears as she entered the house, remembering the happy times she’d spent here. It felt empty as she sat down on one of the wooden chairs and stared at the fireplace, now clean for summer. As her sister put her hand in hers she cried, and she looked at her concerned face and felt thankful that she, at least, had been spared. _Having a future at all is a luxury_ , she heard Sherlock’s voice say in her head, and she thought he was right, because tomorrow might just not arrive, and you had to live for today.

She looked up to find her parents hovering at the edge of the small room, concerned, not sure how to treat her, so she stood up and went over to them, drawing them both into another hug. “I don’t want you to worry about me, please, Mum,” she said, kissing her mum on her cheek. “I’m... happy. I have learned so much in the last months, and, you know, I’ve been fed, and clothed, and I don’t have to work very hard.”

Her dad looked at her uncomfortably, attempting to voice the question that she knew was coming. “And does he... use you?” She looked at him, sad for what he must be feeling, and the imaginary horrors in his mind which must be eating him up. “Yes, dad, he does. But he has been very patient, and he is kind to me.” It struck her that she wasn’t sure he would be quite so concerned if she’d married Geir, and that she herself was not sure at all that Geir would have treated her half as well. It was a strange realisation. She hugged him again. “Stop worrying, Dad, please.”

They had a little food, Kari excitedly telling Bethany everything that had happened since she’d left as she chattered at an incredible speed. Bethany sat and half-listened, smiling at her little sister and just happy to be able to see her alive and well. After they had finished there was a knock on the door, and Inge entered the house. “Ah, you’re here, they did say they saw you walk back home with your family. Ehm... Are you staying? Is he dropping you off here?” She stared at Bethany’s collar.

Bethany shook her head. “No, I’m only visiting, Inge. I don’t think we’re staying long.” She looked at her friend, desperate to find out how she was. “Come on, let’s talk.”

\--oOo-- 

Sitting in Bethany’s little bedroom they talked about everything and nothing, about the chaotic days after the raid on the village where nobody was quite sure who was dead and who was missing, the three burning houses that had collapsed on their occupants killing all inside, the slow rebuilding of the village. Three more of Bethany’s friends had been taken, but Inge had managed to avoid capture by running to the water and jumping into the sea, hiding behind rocks on the tide line and nearly dying from hypothermia in the process. They had found her as dawn broke and taken her back to the village, and she had spent weeks recovering from her ordeal.

Bethany told her all about her adventures since that day, leaving out the distressing parts but finding the good bits needed no embellishment. Inge looked at her dreamily. “And what about the Dread Pirate Sherlock then, what’s he like? He’s nothing like I’d imagined. He seems... I don’t know, very attractive.”

Bethany sighed. “Master Sherlock is different, Inge. He’s like nobody you’ve ever met. He reads and writes in several languages, and he plays this instrument called a violin, and he dances, and then he is as hard as stone when it comes to killing people or raiding villages and all the other things he used to do. He’s unpredictable, and he doesn’t like being crossed, and then he is an expert swordsman, I've never seen anything like it. He terrifies me some days.” She showed Inge her tattoo. “He did that himself in the first few hours of buying me. He didn’t think anything of it, either.”

Inge looked at her in awe. “Does he... you know, does he sleep with you?”

Bethany blushed. “Yes.”

Inge squealed. “Oh by Freya, what’s that like? Oh you have to tell me.”

A small, wicked thought entered Bethany’s head. _I’m sure he would be more than happy to show you himself_ , she thought, squashing the thought as soon as it had surfaced, blushing even harder. Thankfully Inge mistook it for embarrassment and laughed. “Come on, Bethany, you can tell me.”

She shook her head. “I... eh, I can’t describe it. He’s...” she hesitated, really not sure what to say. Then she settled on, “When he takes me, Inge, there is nothing else left in the world but him. He makes me forget everything else. I feel like I’m flying.”

Her friend looked at her with open mouth. “You love him. You actually love him.”

Bethany looked at her hands. There was little point denying it. “Yes. But I very much doubt that he loves me back.”

\--oOo-- 

She returned to the Storm Petrel after having dinner at her parents’ that day with a head that was full of conflicted feelings. The joy of seeing her parents and Kari and Inge, and the intense grief at the loss of her brothers and the capture of her other friends, and the senseless deaths in her village during the raid were battling it out in her head and she walked onto the gang plank tired and muted. Sherlock was sitting in the prow, feet on the railings, looking out over the harbour and the sunset smoking his long pipe. She took one look at his tall figure, relaxed and commanding, and realised her place was right there.

She walked over and just sat on the deck below his seat, took his right arm which was lying over his stomach, and draped it over her shoulder and onto her chest. He said nothing but just pulled her into him a little and she heaved a long sigh, feeling finally safe, and at home. “I don’t belong here anymore, Sir.”

He looked down on her and nodded, then kissed the top of her head. “You are correct. But I believe you already knew that.”

She looked up at him, a little tearful. “When we arrived here I thought that maybe I had just been telling myself that in order to survive. But I was wrong, Sir. I belong here, with you.” Sherlock said nothing and she left it at that. Even if it was only for a few months, it was her truth.

They sat in silence for a while. Then she said, “Both my brothers died in the raids, Sir. And three of my friends were taken.”

Sherlock sighed, sat up, and pulled her to her feet. “And your parents and your rather lovely friend Inge survived, and I believe you have a younger sister, too, who is still alive. Stop maudling, Bethany, it doesn’t change anything.” He pulled her onto his lap. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

She looked at him, not sure what he wanted her to tell him. “Well, you met her, Sir. She’s the same age as me, and we grew up together. We were inseparable for years. She was due to be married to one of the boys at the other end of the village, but he was also killed in the raids. She’s a good cook, and she’s got a wicked sense of humour. She likes weaving.” Sherlock looked at the sky. “Anything else?”

“Ehm,” Bethany said, a little confused. “Well, Sir, she was asking about you this afternoon.” A slow smile spread across his face as he looked at her. “Did she now. And what did she say?”

Bethany felt like she was digging a hole she should be getting out of as soon as possible. It was impossible to lie to Sherlock’s scrutinising eyes, however, and she blushed. “She said you were rather attractive, Sir.” Sherlock laughed, making Bethany rock, and shook his head. “Oh, let me guess. She spent most of the afternoon trying to find out what it is like to sleep with a pirate.” Bethany blushed again, but didn’t deny it. He looked at her with great amusement. “Did you give her details?”

Bethany shook her head. “No, Sir.”

Sherlock was quiet again, looking at the sunset with an amused smile on his face. After a while he sighed. “Ah, if only she had been captured by the same traders, I could have had a matching pair.”

Bethany looked at him in shock as he grinned back at her. “What. It would have been good. And you would have had company.” She was mortified. “No, Sir, I would never wish that on her, with respect. That would be selfish.” Sherlock shook his head, still grinning. “Here’s the deal. You tell your lovely friend tomorrow that if she is so curious, she should come and visit me on my ship. And then we’ll see how selfish it would have been.”

Bethany was speechless. “She would never do that, Sir.” He raised his eyebrows. “Really. Experience, I’m afraid, says otherwise. I’ll wager you. A week off if you win.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes, his smug arrogance starting to get to her. “Fine, Sir. But I have nothing to lose that you might want.” He just smiled. “You will owe me a favour, and I will call it in as I see fit.”

They sealed the deal, Bethany awkwardly, Sherlock well practiced in such things, just as Hiccup came flying into the ship on Toothless from a foray around the island. She did not speak to him about it.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock gets to hear something new.

The following morning Sherlock made her do her chores early, and then sent her off into the village as Hiccup left to explore the islands beyond Sundvik. “Tell your dad I wish to speak about sheep before midday, and don’t forget to pass my message to your friend. Other than that you are free to spend your time as you wish. Back here before sundown.”

Bethany spent the morning with her family. Her mother had decided to clean the house from top to bottom if Sherlock was to visit it, and while she tried to convince her that it would make not one iota of difference to him she pitched in and helped out. Her dad spent most of the morning pacing around in a subdued state of terror, and she found she could not help him. She had no idea what game Sherlock was playing, and so she kept quiet and carried on scrubbing.

Her first instinct when Sherlock arrived was to stay with her dad and shield him, but Sherlock told her in no uncertain terms to keep out of it while he conducted his business outside at the fields. However, the change in her dad was remarkable when they returned after some time, his terror replaced by a quiet look of respect. He invited Sherlock into the house, but the latter declined politely, saying he had other business to attend to.

Just as he was about to leave, Kari slipped out of the door and ran to him. Bethany saw her go from the corner of her eye and quickly followed her, shouting her name in warning. When she got to the door, however, the sight that met her on the little courtyard was surprising.

Kari was standing in front of Sherlock, who had gone down on one knee to be level with her. She was chatting at him, offering him a flower that she had picked, and he took it with thanks, carefully placing it in a button hole. Then she asked him questions about his coat and especially the shiny buttons, which he answered patiently, allowing her to have a good look at them. Kari clapped her hands in glee. To her he was no doubt some beautiful exotic curiosity, but Bethany was shocked at the way he met her on her own terms, his usual air of mild disdain evaporated, replaced by complete openness. Behind her, looking past her in the doorway, her mum whispered, “Is he real, Bethany? I can’t make heads nor tails of him.”

Bethany turned around briefly, meeting her eye. _Welcome to my world,_ she thought. She whispered back, “He’s his own person, mum. Nobody tells him anything.” She blinked as Sherlock got up, doing a little twirl and making his coat flap. Kari clapped again. “Apart from Kari, apparently.”

To her horror Kari proceeded to perform the Dread Pirate Sherlock song, a silly thing that Bethany, Inge and her other friends had made up when they were children and she had taught to Kari when she was little, to the despair of her parents who kept telling her the song was in extremely bad taste. She ran to Kari just as she hit a particularly gory bit about beheading villagers. “Kari, stop. You’re embarrassing Master Sherlock.”

Master Sherlock looked anything but embarrassed. He was grinning from ear to ear, listening to his legacy being sung by an eight year old. “Let her finish, Bethany. Anything else would be rude.”

Bethany stood by him in complete mortification as Kari finished the entire length of the song, going redder and redder as the deeds got more and more graphic. Kari was putting her heart and soul into it, too, and by the end of it Sherlock could not have been grinning any wider. He clapped when she finished. “Thank you, young Mistress. May I ask where you learned this excellent song?” Kari pointed at Bethany. “She made it, Sir. She and her friends. Ages and ages and ages ago.”

Sherlock turned to Bethany, who was waiting for the ground to just swallow her up. She stammered, “I’m sorry, Sir, I really am,” but Sherlock laughed. “Well, I always dreamed about my deeds being remembered in song. I just never realised it would be in a nursery rhyme.” He bowed gracefully to Kari, and left the courtyard chuckling. Bethany closed her eyes and swore internally, wishing she’d never been born.

\--oOo-- 

She was glad to be able to hide back in the house for a while and recover from her embarrassment. Her dad had gone about the farm again, but her mother was still in the kitchen, sitting at the small wooden table. She pulled out a stool for her as Bethany got in, and she sat down with an exhausted sigh, gratefully accepting the bowl of hot fish soup that was put in front of her. She began to eat it mindlessly with the small wooden spoon her mother gave her, and her mother studied her for a long time, and then said, “You’re completely besotted with him.” Bethany met her eyes and shrugged, too tired to pretend otherwise. She looked back at her soup. “There’s very little I can do about it, mum. I know I shouldn’t be. I know he’s dangerous, and he’s done vile things. I even know he’s not going to keep me because he’s actually told me so himself. But he has been nothing but kind and generous to me, apart from when I tried to escape, and I brought that on myself.” She looked at her mother again, hoping for some understanding. “I can’t help it, mum. I’m sorry.”

Her mother smiled, and ruffled her hair. “Not a seamstress after all, my girl, but an adventurer. Geir was distraught, you know, when he found out they’d taken you. But something tells me you are happier this way, even with that thing around your neck.” Bethany’s dad came in the door, whistling quietly. Her mum smiled. “Look, he’s even charmed your father, and he’s only spent a few moments with him.” Bethany’s dad looked at her and gave a short laugh. “That will be to do with him paying me four times the odds for the lambs. He’s crackers, but I like him, and he pays well.”

\--oOo-- 

She made her way to Inge’s house after that, contemplating her mum’s words and Sherlock’s actions, and decided that she could make little sense of what he had done. Her parents meant nothing to him and there was no reason for him to care for them in any way. Nevertheless she was grateful for his generosity because it would make her parents’ lives a little easier this year, especially now that they had lost her brothers’ help on the farm. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t really look where she was going, and she ran into the man going the other way with a solid smack.

She stopped, dazed and ready to apologise profusely, but when she looked up she realised that it was Geir she had bumped into. She was lost for words a moment, not sure what to say to him. After an awkward moment of silence she stammered, “Sorry. Sorry, Geir, I didn’t see you. Hi.”

He looked her over with an expression of disgust, making a point of resting his eyes on her collar before looking at her face. Then he made an elaborate show of spitting in front of her feet while holding her eye and walked off without a word, leaving Bethany standing in the street, shaking.

\--oOo-- 

Inge cheered her up, in her own inimitable way, by making extremely rude jokes about Geir that left Bethany in fits of laughter. They had ensconced themselves in Inge’s bedroom with a supply of bread and goat’s cheese and ale, and spent the afternoon sitting on her little bed like they always used to, acting as if nothing had changed, telling each other silly stories and gossiping about the villagers. Somehow, however, the conversation kept returning to Sherlock, and Inge got a dreamy look in her face every time she asked something about him. Eventually Bethany drew up enough courage to deliver Sherlock’s message to her.

“Ehm, Inge, Master Sherlock says that if you are so curious, you should come and visit him on his ship tonight.” She looked at her friend’s stunned face, and added. “I don’t believe he was talking about dinner and songs.”

Inge went bright scarlet. “Freya’s cats, are you serious?”

Bethany nodded. “He told me to deliver the message. I...” She looked at her friend, who seemed actually taken with the idea. “Please don’t do it, Inge. He’d destroy you.”

Inge frowned at her. “ _You_ seem to be OK.” She looked at the wall again, dreamily. “By the Gods, I can’t believe he actually said that. Do you think he meant it?”

Bethany sighed, not a doubt in her mind. “Oh yes.”

It seemed Inge was gradually losing her focus altogether. “I wonder what he’d do,” she said, pulling her knees into her chest and looking into space.

 _I’ve got some idea what he’d do,_ Bethany thought. She looked at her friend long and hard, and decided that it was time for a bit of truth. She took off her shirt, turning her back to Inge. Behind her, her friend gasped at the network of thin, white scars covering her skin, fully healed now, but taking their time to fade. “I escaped, Inge. I actually took a boat and got out of there. I thought I was being clever, but it turned out it was a setup. He had Master Hiccup watch me for hours on his dragon, making me believe I had managed to do it, and then he brought me in. He did _that_ to me,” she gestured at her back, and Inge ran her fingers over her skin in fascinated horror, “And then he threatened to set me adrift in a boat to see how long I would survive before someone killed me. He’s got an actual dungeon in that house, Inge. With skulls in it.” She put her shirt back on as her friend looked at her in horror and Bethany sighed. “He’s dangerous. He can be utterly charming, but underneath he’s always playing some game, and he won’t be crossed. Me... You...” She stopped, encompassing the village with her gesture, “It means nothing to him. He’d kill us all if he felt like it, or if it was necessary in some way. As I said, there’s a lot of truth to the stories.”

Inge took her hands. “How did you manage to survive?”

She thought about it, and then decided that of all people Inge deserved to hear the full story, and so she told it in detail. When she finished, she said, “So, I owe Master Hiccup my life. But it worked out, really. It made me realise what I had, and what I could have had.”

“Yeah,” Inge said, with a voice full of distaste. “ _Geir_ ”. They laughed, clearing the air. Bethany looked out of the little window, and suddenly realised it was nearly dark outside. “Oh the Gods, he’s going to skin me.”

Bethany ran from the house and all the way down to the harbour, charging up the gangplank completely out of breath in the near total darkness as the last shreds of sunlight left the sky. She kept going towards Sherlock who was sitting in the prow talking with Hiccup, but tripped over her own feet and ended up skidding towards him in a heap, gasping. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

There was humour in his voice when he answered her. “Spectacular apology accepted. How is your friend?”


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup is fairly disgusted.

As she delivered a late supper to Hiccup and Sherlock Bethany kept looking at the moorings, fearful that she might see Inge approach the ship against all her advice. She was thankful that her friend appeared to have taken the sensible option and she slowly relaxed as the windows in the village houses started to darken one by one for the night, wondering how she might actually spend a week off. After finishing his meal Sherlock disappeared below decks and returned with his violin, which he put against his chin with a little smile to Bethany. She frowned. “That’s cheating, Sir.”

He put the violin down a moment. “So is spending two hours telling horror stories to put people off. I am simply levelling the playing field.” She flushed, wondering how he had worked that out. He just mouthed “window” and “open” as he put the instrument to his chin again, grinning at her acute embarrassment.

Hiccup had been watching the exchange with increasing confusion. “I’m sorry, what’s going on?”

Sherlock bowed some notes and adjusted the tuning on the violin. “The girl and I have a bet, Master Hiccup,” he said, plucking the strings and adjusting the instrument one final time. “And we will know the outcome soon enough.” He put the violin to his chin a third time and began to play in earnest. 

The piece was slow and beautiful and carried in the light breeze of the summer air, and Bethany thought that if that was her sitting in her bedroom at home, she’d be tempted to come and have a look, too. She prayed to Freya that Inge would be sensible and not be lured in. Most of the houses were in total darkness now and she started to breathe a little easier, although she stayed alert, leaning against the railings to keep an eye out.

Bethany had just come to the conclusion that she had won the bet when she saw a tiny light making its way furtively down from the village towards the harbour. When it reached the harbour entrance it suddenly disappeared, and Bethany wondered what had happened as he tried to see through the darkness, her heart in her throat. A short while later there was the unmistakable sound of soft footsteps on the gangplank. Sherlock put his violin down as Inge appeared by the railings carrying a darkened oil lamp, looking beautiful in a simple dress, with her long tresses held back by a thin round braid, her face uncertain and curious. “Forfeit, Bethany,” he said quietly, as the blood drained from Bethany’s face.

\--oOo-- 

As Sherlock got up to greet the new arrival, Hiccup turned to Bethany, sounding utterly disappointed. “Aw, no, Bethany. That was your bet? You put stakes on your best friend being lured here?”

She looked at him, shocked and ashamed. “I... I never thought she would, Sir. I couldn’t imagine...” Her voice trailed off. Hiccup sighed. “What did you lose, Bethany?”

“A... A favour, Sir.” She suddenly felt a little sick. Hiccup looked at her darkly as she realised that she could be in trouble. “Bethany, you’ve got to worry what he might possibly want from you that he could not just ask of you, or tell you to do. He _owns_ you, for Thor’s sake. Did you even think?”

She shook her head vaguely, looking over at the scene that was now playing out on the deck with a feeling of dread. “No... No, Sir, I didn’t. I was too convinced I couldn’t lose.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock had walked over to Inge with a slow, relaxed gait, looking calm and commanding. Bethany couldn’t hear what he said to Inge, but her friend’s blushing was obvious even from this distance. He lifted a hand and touched her friend’s face, running his fingers down to her throat as he had often done with Bethany, studying her as he did so, and she could see the immediate impact this simple action had on her friend, who appeared rooted to the spot, looking at him with open mouth. He gave her a little bow and walked back to the prow, and the girl followed him across the deck, looking a little dazed and a little like a frightened deer. When they got to Hiccup and Bethany, Sherlock took her hand and twirled her round so that she ended up against the railings next to her friend with a shocked expression on her face. Knowing exactly what she felt like Bethany took her hand and squeezed it and Sherlock smiled, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Well, Master Hiccup, tonight we have a perfect pair. Childhood friends, most delightful. The only thing better is twins.”

Hiccup looked at him with unconcealed shock. Then he collected himself and said, “Yeah, you know what, Sherlock? I know it’s your ship and all, but I won’t have a part in this. I can’t condone any of it.” He looked quite angry, but Sherlock met his gaze calmly. “Everybody on this deck is here of their own volition, Master Hiccup.” He looked at Bethany, “Even if it is in a slightly roundabout way for some.”

Hiccup scowled. “No. No, you’re wrong. You and I are here of our own volition. These two,” he gestured at the two girls, “are here because you take great delight in manipulating people that have absolutely no chance against you. Now, they may believe they are here of their own volition, but you know as well as I do that they’re not. It’s like moths to a flame, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It matters not, the end result is the same. And if I remember correctly the manipulation in the slave’s case was entirely yours. I was ready to kill her.”

Hiccup stared him out, “It was the only way to save her life.”

Sherlock grinned at him. “And me playing a little music was the only way to remind Miss Inge of the opportunity to find some answers to questions that will otherwise haunt her for the rest of her days. There’s always a way to justify our actions, Master Hiccup.”

Hiccup held his eye a moment longer, and then sighed and got up, shaking his head. “Well, I hope you have fun, and nobody gets broken. I’ll see you in the morning. Look after your friend, Bethany, Odin knows somebody will have to.”

He walked off towards Toothless, who had been dozing on the aft deck, and without another word jumped on the dragon and flew off into the night. Sherlock watched him go with a smile. “There goes a future leader of men and dragons, and the worst spoilsport I have ever known.” He turned towards the girls, looking them over with an appraising gaze. “It does, however, give me a considerable amount of freedom tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, you know you all like a tease. No apologies.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody gets involved and Bethany gets to review her actions.

To their surprise Sherlock left the ship to cast off the mooring lines, pulled in the gang plank and told Bethany to raise the jib sail. When she hesitated, he said, “No, I’m not kidnapping your friend, Bethany. We will be back before morning. I merely prefer to be away from unfriendly eyes, mainly on Miss Inge’s account.”

It didn’t take him long to turn the ship and sail it nimbly out of the harbour. Bethany could see little by the light of the half moon as she stood by her friend in the prow, but Sherlock seemed to know instinctively where they were going, barely looking at the harbour mouth as the Storm Petrel glided quietly through the water, the soft breeze pushing her gently into the open sea. Inge had not said a word to Bethany since she had arrived, following her meekly about the ship and now looking quite shellshocked as she stared at the calm waves with big eyes. Bethany took her hand again. “Are you alright?”

Inge turned and looked at her. “I... I don’t know, Bethany. I think I may have made a mistake.”

 _Too late_ , Bethany thought as she put an arm around her friend’s waist and pulled her to her. Inge returned the gesture, hanging onto Bethany as if her life depended on it as they stared out into the night.

\--oOo-- 

They sailed for a short while until they were well clear of the island, the dark bulk of it a reassuring presence in the distance as Sherlock lowered the jib and cast out the anchor which hit rock, tethering the ship to the spot. The Storm Petrel’s aimless, gentle rocking on the waves was somehow disconcerting, Bethany thought, subtly making the point that they were quite out of reach of any help. _No escape_ , she thought as she watched him tie the sail loosely in place, and while the feeling was quite familiar to her she felt sorry for her friend who stood beside her in the prow watching with her, trembling slightly.

When he was finished Sherlock walked over and stood in front of the two friends, regarding them with undisguised mirth. “Well, now. Scared and Defensive, what a pair.” He took Inge’s hand, and the girl nearly jumped. “If I may peel you away from your protective friend a moment.” Giving Bethany a little bow, he gently pulled Inge towards him, who looked at him with a face full of fear. Sherlock smiled and stroked her cheek, lifting her chin gently. “I am not going to hurt you, Miss Inge, regardless of what your friend and Master Hiccup have made you believe. I promise you will enjoy this. Remember why you came here.”

He kissed her then, cupping her face in his hands, and Bethany could do nothing but admire his mastery of the situation as Inge visibly softened to him, moving into him as he slowly started to explore her body, the fingertips of his right hand moving down from her face over her throat onto her breast, gently stroking the round form, his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her in. She broke off and gasped as he ran a soft thumb over her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and he smiled at her surprise and did it again, slowly rubbing the palm of his hand in circles over the point of her nipple until she was breathing heavily and her eyes were glazed over. He kissed her once more, then leant down and pulled her dress over her head to reveal her naked form, soft and beautiful in the moonlight. He looked her over appreciatively as he took off his coat, laying it on the deck, then coming back to Inge to run a long fingertip over her body, watching her reactions as he did so. The girl stood, trembling and watching him in awe, looking a little lost under his intense scrutiny, her hands twitching slightly by her side. Sherlock looked across her shoulder, speaking to Bethany, who had been watching them with a mixture of trepidation and arousal, as he gently took Inge’s arms and held them behind her back. “Kindly hold onto your friend’s arms so she doesn’t have to worry about what to do with them, Bethany.”

It took her a moment to register that he wanted her to take an active part in this. When he saw the confusion on her face Sherlock grinned. “Did you really think you were just going to watch from a safe distance, girl?” He stroked Inge’s chest with his free hand, studying the reactions on her face as she shuddered lightly to his touch. “The idea is to make this young lady feel good, and you will assist me in that.”

Bethany stepped forward a little uncertainly and gently took Inge’s arms from Sherlock, who acknowledged her compliance with a small nod. Inge made a small noise as she felt her friend’s hands on her, and, not knowing how else to reassure her, Bethany put a soft kiss between her shoulder blades. Sherlock grinned at Bethany as, to her surprise, Inge let out a small gasp. “Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said as he returned his attentions to Inge’s body, now slowly running two hands over her breasts and stomach, eliciting shudders from the girl that Bethany only recognised too well. Inge moaned as Sherlock began to cover her body in kisses, spending time going slowly around her left breast and ending up at her nipple, which he carefully took in his mouth as he gently held onto her breast, and as Inge bucked and moaned Bethany placed another soothing kiss on her neck, carrying on kissing along her shoulder as Inge’s breathing became deeper and she shuddered again, relaxing into the experience. As he moved onto her other breast, Sherlock chuckled. “Thank you, Bethany, that is proving most helpful.”

He slowly began to move downwards then, stroking and kissing her stomach as he lowered himself onto one knee, his hands still occasionally moving upwards to her breasts, eliciting small whimpers each time he brushed her nipples. Inge had closed her eyes and was swaying a little, but Sherlock held on to her waist as he began to explore her lower body, placing careful kisses around her mound, slowly moving towards her sex. She was letting out a stream of small moans, and Bethany had taken her wrists in one hand and was now gently stroking her back with the other, calming her and soothing her and quietly telling her that everything was alright as she kissed her friend’s neck and shoulders. When Sherlock reached Inge’s clit she let out a long moan and almost collapsed, so they gently lowered her onto his coat where she lay blinking in a daze as Sherlock removed his own clothes and moved over her, allowing her to study him a moment as he kneeled between her legs with his arms either side of her head on the deck.

Bethany had let go of her friend’s arms as they lay her down, and Inge now lifted a hand to touch Sherlock’s skin, tracing the scars as she looked up at him in awe and he smiled down on her, pleased and never tired of making such an impression. He humoured her a moment, then gently took her hand and put it above her head, then picked up the other and joined them. To Bethany, who was kneeling by Inge’s head, he said softly, “Hold her hands.”

She took her friend’s hands with a sense of finality, kissing her forehead, and as Inge met her eyes with a dazed expression she told her she was beautiful. Inge smiled back at her vaguely and returned her gaze to Sherlock, who had watched the little exchange with patience but now refocused Inge’s attention to himself, stroking her face before kissing her deeply. She moaned through the kiss as she felt him and clutched onto Bethany’s fingers, digging her nails into the palms of her hands as he entered her slowly. Sherlock broke off the kiss and watched her as Bethany watched him, the intense focus in his eyes, studying her friend’s every reaction as she lay in rapture, adjusting his movements to match what he observed in her face. She felt entranced, caught up in the intensity of the moment, and she wasn’t prepared when Sherlock suddenly looked up and met her own eye, holding it as he slowly increased his rhythm and Inge underneath him started moaning more loudly, struggling against Bethany’s grip on her hands, her excitement building to a peak. In the end she had to close her eyes in order to shut Sherlock out, and Inge’s orgasm was reflected in her own arousal as her friend came bucking and gasping, Bethany quietly moaning along in sympathy.

\--oOo-- 

They had to help Inge up as she slowly returned to reality, soft and pliable and thoughtful. She looked at Sherlock with an expression of pure admiration that Bethany recognised with a tiny stab of jealousy, and said, a little dreamily, “Thank you, Sir. That was...” She thought a moment, unable to find a word for it. “Stunning,” she settled on in the end, and Sherlock smiled and kissed her, and helped sit her upright against the railings of the ship, wrapping his coat around her as he did so. She sat on the deck, staring into space and looking utterly content, and Bethany could do nothing else but smile at her affectionately. Sherlock caught her eye as he pulled on his shirt. “Childhood friends, you see. No real issues with jealousy.”

He turned his attention to her properly then, sitting on the deck half-dressed and scrutinising her. She felt exposed, thinking that should not be when she had all her clothes on and he looked a ravishing mess, but his gaze cut right through her as he was clearly considering his next actions. “Well now,” he said, finally, “What to do with Bethany.”

She wasn’t sure what he was alluding to, but suddenly got the chilling feeling that she was, for some reason, in trouble. He only confirmed it by reaching across to Inge and pulling something out of his coat pocket that she recognised after a moment as a cat-o’-nine-tails, simply braided together from pieces of the ship’s rope, each strand finished in three small knots. It looked harsh and efficient and newly made. She stared at him, and stammered, “Sir, I didn’t...”

He sighed, running the thing through his hands absentmindedly. “You didn’t spend considerable time and effort this afternoon attempting to put your rather delicious friend off from coming to see me?”

She wasn’t sure where to look, and she ended up staring at the deck. There was no point in denying it. “Yes, Sir, I did.” She knew telling him she was sorry was useless, because up to that moment she hadn’t been and he knew it, and so she sat and waited for the inevitable.

“Bethany, you take great care in telling people that I will not be crossed, and you are right to warn them. But it appears you think you are immune.” She nearly jumped as he hit the whip on the deck with a loud _thwack_ , and she looked up at him in shock. In a small voice she said, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He regarded her calmly. “That is a word I have heard rather a lot lately. I shouldn’t be hearing it at all, Bethany.”

Bethany looked across to Inge, who met her eye, concern written across her face. Her friend took a deep breath. “With all due respect, Sir, she was trying to protect me.”

Sherlock turned round to look at her a moment, and then said, “And with all due respect, girl, it is none of your business. She is my property and I will decide how to deal with her.” Inge made a small noise and withdrew her legs into her, eyes as big as saucers. Sherlock looked at Bethany again as he stood up, taking her hand and making her rise with him. He held the cat-o’nine-tails in his teeth as he efficiently undressed her, and when she stood in front of him naked he considered her again a moment, slapping the thing quietly against his bare leg.

“You have partially redeemed yourself tonight by being so very helpful to your friend. There must, however, be some form of punishment for your unacceptable lack of loyalty.”

She looked back at the wooden deck, resigned and scared, and said, “Yes, Sir.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR PHYSICAL PUNISHMENT AND DUBIOUS CONSENT.
> 
> For those who are uncomfortable with this I will give a brief summary before the next chapter.
> 
> In which Sherlock makes a point.

Sherlock turned her around so that she was facing the railing, telling her to hold on. Bethany stood bent over, trembling, looking out over the calm dark waves between the ropes and at the stars in the night sky and wishing this was over. She nearly jumped when she felt the strands of the whip on her back, but Sherlock was merely running the thing over her slowly, making her feel the knots on her skin in dreadful anticipation. She whimpered, and he said, “Now, these things are made to cause great pain, but the damage they do very much depends on the skill of the wielder.” He ran his left hand over her back, for a moment tracing one or two of her earlier scars, subtly reminding her of what he was capable. His hand came to rest on her waist, lightly. “Count of twenty, Bethany.”

Bethany nodded and braced herself, biting back tears. She could feel him move behind her and heard the swish of the whip through the air, but she was completely unprepared for the feeling of him entering her, deeply, as the strands came down on her back with a resounding slap. She yelped, pain cutting through her at the same time as her body responded to his entry, still aroused after the previous events of the night. The combination of sensations left her speechless and gasping. Above and behind her, Sherlock chuckled quietly. “Your count, Bethany.”

She blinked, and managed a quiet, “One, Sir.”

He withdrew and she whimpered, preparing for a repeat, and he met her again on the second stroke of the whip, and the third, and the fourth, pain mingling with pleasure as she cried out again and counted two, then three, then four, her arousal taking over and almost blocking out the pain. On the fifth stroke, however, he refrained from entering her, putting the whip down hard on her back instead, bringing tears to her eyes. “Don’t get comfortable, Bethany.” She counted five through her tears, reminding herself never to get comfortable around him again in her life.

He carried on like this, never falling into a pattern, until she was shaking and no longer aware of her surroundings, tears streaming from her eyes onto the deck as her arousal made her buck every time he did enter her, her world reduced to a mixture of pleasure and pain and darkness that she could make no sense of. Her counts were becoming erratic, Sherlock adding an extra lash every time she forgot as was his wont, and she lost the ability to keep track altogether around sixteen, staring blankly at the black water as she tried to remember what she was meant to do. “Sixteen, Bethany. I will add two,” Sherlock said, and paused a moment. Then he added, “Miss Inge, you will help your friend count. Otherwise we may be here all night.”

Inge made her way over, sidling carefully along the railings in order to keep furthest away from Sherlock who watched her with amusement. She sat down by her friend’s face and stroked it, meeting Bethany’s muddled gaze with eyes that were big and round with fear, the moonlight outlining her face in soft worried shadows. Bethany smiled at her and muttered, “Inge,” just before Sherlock put down another lash that made her cry out in pain. Inge had tears in her eyes as she whispered, “Seventeen, Bethany,” and Bethany repeated the number numbly.

They eventually made it to twenty-six, Bethany in a world of her very own as Sherlock had thrust into her on every lash from twenty onwards until she could barely feel the pain of the whip’s strands as they struck her and she was moaning rather than crying. Inge’s counts were only vaguely reaching her and she repeated them back to Sherlock in a voice that was slow and thick and did not sound like her own. Sherlock dropped the whip on the deck then, and ran his hands over her back, his firm touch soothing the pain where his lashes had struck, and she melted into him as he entered her again, slowly this time, taking her gently as her body relaxed with the realisation that it was over. He stood for a moment, lightly running his fingers over her body, and then he started to move, building up his rhythm gradually as he held onto her waist lightly, occasionally leaning down and kissing her back or stroking her, and the contrast between his previous harsh treatment and his sudden gentle ministrations flooded her with pleasure, the fear of pain evaporated, leaving only pure enjoyment in its wake that left her feeling as light as a feather. By the time she came close to orgasm she was pouring forth a stream of thanks an apologies, which was only cut off by Inge taking her face and kissing her full on the mouth, pushing her over the edge as Sherlock reached his own peak behind her, thrusting into her deeply.

\--oOo--  

It took a long time for Bethany to come down. Her hands had become so cramped around the ropes of the railing that Sherlock had to peel them off, her arms stiff and her legs unable to support her, and he carried her across the darkened deck to the prow like a child, sitting down with her on his lap, stroking her back gently in an absentminded way as Bethany stared into space with a glazed expression on her face. Inge had followed them and sat meekly across from him, still just wearing Sherlock’s coat, not sure anymore how she felt. He caught her eye as she looked around her, appearing a little lost. “I apologise for you having to bear witness to that, Miss Inge. It is an unfortunate part of the reality of your friend’s life.” He kissed Bethany’s back, and she responded with a little senseless noise. Sherlock smiled. “There are, however, advantages as well, and I like to think I keep her existence interesting.”

Inge looked at the pair of them quietly. “I could not give you an opinion, Sir.”

Sherlock smiled. “Another politician. Sundvik breeds them well.” He stroked Bethany’s hair as Inge looked on, worried about her friend who seemed to have completely withdrawn into herself. Sherlock noted her concern, and turned to the naked girl on his lap. “Bethany.”

Bethany blinked and slowly turned to look at him. “Bethany, your friend is worried about you. Tell her how you feel.”

She looked at him with a frown a moment, and then turned to Inge and smiled, and said dreamily, “You kissed me.”

Sherlock chuckled and kissed her back. “Beside the point, Bethany. Tell her how you feel.”

She blinked again, trying to focus. “Good, Sir. I feel good.”

He hummed his approval, looking at Inge as he asked Bethany his next question. “And what did you think about what I did to you tonight?”

Bethany was quiet so long that Inge thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she said, “That was astounding, Sir.”

Sherlock smiled at Inge, who just shook her head in denial. “Bethany,” he said, still smiling, “would you say that was a harsh punishment?”

She frowned at him again when she turned and answered him, still struggling to get some words together. “No, Sir. Wasn’t really a punishment.”

The look of disbelief on Inge’s face was a picture and Sherlock grinned at her. Then he turned serious. “You see, Inge,” he said, slowly stroking Bethany’s back, “The curious fact is that uncertainty, fear, even pain – they add to the experience for some people, when applied correctly. Much to the delight of people like myself who enjoy exploiting this little weakness.” He ran a sharp nail over Bethany’s bare back, but she barely reacted to it. “The release induces a deep state of relaxation, as your lovely friend here is demonstrating.”

Inge shook her head, not taking it. “No. I refuse to believe that.”

Sherlock gave a short laugh and shook his head, looking at her with some incredulity. “You are no different. It’s why you came to my ship tonight. Any sane person would have taken Bethany’s advice and stayed at home.”

She frowned at him, offended. “I was just curious.”

Sherlock sighed and turned to Bethany. “Bethany, I’m going to sit you down on the bench, and you are to stay upright. With apologies, there is something I must do.”

Bethany nodded vaguely. “Fine, Sir.”

Sherlock gently lowered Bethany onto the seat as he got up and kissed her on the forehead. Then he picked up her shirt and helped her dress, the movement of her arms waking her up a little, and she sat back against the railings and watched him as he found his breeches and pulled them on, picking up the whip in the process and pocketing it. He took a few oil lamps from one of the chests on the deck, lit them and placed them in a circle in front of the prow seat. The effect was to light the area like a little round stage, and Bethany wondered vaguely what he was up to. While she was still pondering it Sherlock walked over to Inge, plucked his coat off her and put it on with a flourish, leaving her naked on the bench. Then he stood in front of her friend, chewing his bottom lip a moment as he looked at her. “Well then,” he said quietly, appearing to make up his mind. “That’s ‘ _I was just curious, Sir’_ on this ship, and you have just earned yourself a small demonstration.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the last chapter: Bethany has been left in a post-orgasmic daze after Sherlock's punishment, which was more of a mindfuck although it was painful. Inge is concerned about Bethany's withdrawn state of mind and has protested to Sherlock that she does not believe anybody could derive enjoyment from being treated in this way. Sherlock has finally had enough of her forward ways and has decided to give her a demonstration.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR EDGE PLAY. Please carry on to chapter 55 if this makes you uncomfortable in any way.
> 
> I am not going to give a summary at the next chapter because basically nobody gets hurt.

Inge stared at him, wide eyed, as her face went white. “I... I’m sorry, Sir, I just...”

“Got comfortable,” Sherlock finished her sentence for her. “Stand up.”

She obeyed him with trepidation, keeping close to the bench, but he gestured for her to come into the circle of light. When she had made her way there gingerly he regarded her a moment, then said,  “Considering where you are and who you are with, most people might have said getting comfortable was unwise.”

She swallowed, and said, “What...” but Sherlock put a long finger across her lips and shook his head at her slightly, smiling. “No. You don’t get to ask questions. You simply get to experience.”

\--oOo-- 

He took a step back and slowly walked around Inge, studying her, the sharp click-clack of his boots the only sound on the ship. Inge stood frozen on the spot looking terrified, the soft orange light from the oil lamps playing on her skin, while Bethany watched from her bench in a detached manner, still not entirely with it, and quite sure in her own mind that Sherlock was merely playing a game with her friend, however frightening. When he had finished his slow circuit Sherlock stopped in front of the scared-looking girl, and smiled.

“There. All I have done is put a few lamps out, changed some clothes around and walked around you. And what I see is fear,” He stroked her face and Inge whimpered, “And underneath that fear I see arousal,” he said, quietly. Inge blushed and looked at the deck, but he lifted her chin to get her to look at him again. “And that is what I get to play with, Inge, because I am now wearing the coat and you are not wearing anything, and because you choose to stay here, on this spot, while you could run across the deck or even jump off and try to swim back to shore, and through that decision you are handing me power over you which I am happy to receive and use. And I’ve not even touched you yet.”

She closed her eyes, unable to deal with him, and Sherlock smiled and let go of her. “Now, I am going to tell you a story, and all you have to do is listen. You may react as you wish, and I promise you now that when I am finished everything will go back to normal, you will not be hurt, and you will have learned something.”

She looked at him, incomprehension in her eyes, as he took a metal collar out of his pocket that was identical to the one Bethany was wearing. He turned the thing around in his hands a few times, looking at it, allowing Inge to recognise what it was, and she looked at his face in shock. He smiled at her again. “Well then. Let us, for the moment, imagine that these raiders that came for your island had been successful at capturing you as well, and I had seen you standing next to your friend on that unfortunate little platform, and I had decided to purchase you both. It is not an unlikely scenario, and it would not have been the first time on my part.” He lifted her hair as he spoke, fastening the collar around her neck carefully. Inge was shaking when he had finished, looking terrified, and he briefly kissed her, and said, “It is merely a game, Inge, and you will be free again before the night is over. For the moment, however, you are mine, in much the same way that your friend is.”

She swallowed, trying to hold it together, looking at him for some confirmation that what he was saying was true, that this was just a game. He watched her internal conflict with amusement, but made no further comment on the matter. Instead he stepped back a little. “So, now we have deepened the divide in power, where that,” he touched the collar around her neck, “while being merely a symbol, signifies that you now have no choice but to do what I tell you, and speak to me in a certain manner. It tells you that the consequences for not doing so may be severe, and that any attempts at escape are likely to result in your death, because I will hunt you down and kill you personally. And you also know that I am quite capable of doing so, because my reputation precedes me, and so you have no other choice but to stay there and let me do as I wish.”

Inge whimpered, caught up in his narrative, the question of whether this was a game or not almost irrelevant as in that moment it was her reality. Sherlock studied her reactions, letting her contemplate his words for a while. “And still we are merely in the realm of clothes and symbols and words, and I have not really touched you, and everything that you are experiencing sits, in fact, here.” He put a long finger to her forehead and chuckled as she made a small noise, looking at him with big eyes. “It’s fun, this, isn’t it,” he said as he ran his fingertips down her face, stroking her chin and neck with the back of his fingers as he went.

Inge shuddered at the touch of his hand and closed her eyes, breathing a curse. “Freya’s milky tits.” Sherlock grinned at her reaction, then became serious again. “I believe that should be ‘ _Freya’s milky tits, Sir’_ , girl,” he said, running a sharp thumbnail slowly back up Inge’s throat. She whimpered and put her head back instinctively in a gesture of surrender, breathing an apology. Sherlock chuckled again. “Ah, she’s beginning to understand. Tell me how you feel, Inge.”

She swallowed, still holding her head up. “I... I don’t know, Sir. Scared.” He shook his head. “No. You know what it feels like to be actually scared. I-don’t-know-scared doesn’t exist. Try again.” He ran a soft fingertip back down her throat, and she shuddered at the contrast, letting out a constrained noise. “Hng. Ap... Apprehensive, Sir. But I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled. “I’ll take that.” He leant down and placed a slow row of kisses along her throat, following the line of her artery from her chin to the collar. She moaned softly, closing her eyes and muttering quiet things under her breath. When he finished he stepped back, running a light hand over her chest as he did so, a slow shudder passing through her whole body. Sherlock turned to Bethany, who had been watching the exchange in awe. “Your opinion, Bethany,” he said. In front of him, Inge hadn’t moved but was still standing in the centre of the circle with her head back, completely entranced, looking beautiful. Bethany blinked. “Eh... It’s fascinating, Sir. I’d never thought about it like that.”

He smiled at her. “Better still for me, it doesn’t matter whether you understand it or not. The effect remains the same.” She had to agree he was right. The fact he could explain exactly what he was doing only emphasised his mastery of the skill. Sherlock turned his attention back to her friend. “Inge, look at me.”

Bethany’s friend took a deep, unsteady breath and put her head down, looking at Sherlock in a daze. He grinned at her obvious arousal and she blushed, looking away, as he stepped towards her again. “So, then, in this state I can keep you here all night,” he said, slowly tracing patterns on her skin with a single finger, eliciting gasps when he passed particularly sensitive parts, and she watched him watching his own hand, trying to keep her eyes open but struggling as he brushed past her nipple, or across her stomach, or just on the underside of a breast. Then he met her eye. “I can make you fear me more,” he said, as he calmly put his right hand over her throat above her collar, his fingers resting lightly on her artery, putting his left hand on the back of her neck, and watched the sudden realisation in her face that she was only a firm squeeze away from death as she froze, panic rising. Then he smiled and moved his hands higher, around her face, and said, “Or I can take it right down,” and kissed her.

Inge moaned through the kiss, lost in the whirlwind that was Sherlock’s control over her, and Bethany knew exactly how she felt, her whole world turned upside down, shaken out and with very little sense remaining in it. She felt a little sorry for her, knowing that she was completely unprepared for the force of his personality, but in her contemplative state she concluded that it was Inge’s own decision in the end, to come here even after she had told her what he was like. In the moonlight the pair of them made a beautiful picture – Sherlock with his lace shirt half open, his well-tailored coat emphasising his tall figure, leaning slightly down with his long hands enveloping her friend’s face, kissing her deeply as the faint moonlight shimmered on his dark hair; her friend, in contrast, naked and turned upwards to him, the light of the lamps reflecting off her pale skin and auburn hair, her long tresses enveloping her body as her arms hung passively by her side, clearly caught up in his narrative to such a degree that she wasn’t even sure whether she was allowed to touch him anymore. Bethany smiled, and thought she might want to try and draw them like that.

Sherlock broke off his kiss and stepped away from Inge, leaving her standing in the circle breathless. He checked the moon a moment, and then said, “We do, unfortunately, not have all night, and I will have to step this up a little if we are to return you home under cover of darkness. Let us talk about pain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took such a long time, I needed to make sure that I got this right. There's plenty more to come.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR EDGE PLAY
> 
> Again, nobody gets hurt.
> 
> In which Sherlock gets his own way (as usual) but with elegance, and Inge gets a surprise.

Inge actually stopped breathing a second, staring at Sherlock in obvious horror. “What... Sir. No. Please.” He barely acknowledged her distress, but instead took the cat-o’-nine-tails out of his pocket, looked at it and turned it over in his hands a few times. Inge’s eyes were inexorably drawn to the thing and she watched his movements in fascinated terror. When he gave his own hand an exploratory slap with it that resounded around the ship she nearly jumped, letting out a small yelp. Sherlock looked up and grinned at her. “And there’s your mind again, doing all the work for me.”

He looked back at his hands in quiet contemplation, turning the whip over slowly. “I will continue my story,” he said eventually, looking back up at Inge, who was watching his every move with trepidation. Sherlock smiled at the state of her, and continued, “Let us make the assumption that you have displeased me in some small way. Maybe you have forgotten to address me properly on several occasions, or maybe you challenged my actions or assertions a little too vocally, or possibly you took a very long time to come to me when summoned on an evening.”

He let his words sit there a moment, allowing Inge to realise that she had, indeed, done all three of those things tonight. “I’m... I’m sorry, Sir,” she stammered, going pale again. Sherlock shook his head, with a sideways glance at Bethany. “No, you’re not, not yet. Bethany will tell you that at this moment you are merely scared.”

Bethany was worried. While she was still convinced that Sherlock was just playing with her friend, it was apparent to her that Inge was beginning to lose it. The events of the night were simply too much for her, he was too much for her, his actions too unpredictable, and Bethany was concerned that Sherlock wasn’t seeing it. She watched her friend a moment, the tension in her face and body, and it was clear to her that while Inge was making an attempt at appearing brave, underneath she was fighting back a surge of panic and was actually close to tears. Fearful of the consequences of interfering but feeling that she had to do something regardless, she whispered a very quiet and worried, “Sir...”

Sherlock’s eyes shot to her, looked at her face a moment, and turned straight back to Inge. He studied her very briefly and then stepped up to her, took her hand and kissed it. Inge looked at him, confused, and Sherlock smiled. “It appears you are getting rather too caught up in my narrative, Miss Inge. I made you a promise this evening. Kindly repeat it back to me.”

Inge stared at him a moment, dumbfounded, and then took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, casting her mind back. “That everything would go back to normal, Sir. That I would be free after you were finished. And that you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her voice trailed off as she came to the end of her sentence and she looked at him, desperate for some confirmation that this was still true. He nodded at her and kissed her hand again. “Those promises remain unchanged.”

Her eyes wandered from his face to the whip in his hand. “But you intend to hurt me, Sir.”

Sherlock contemplated the whip a moment, and sighed. “It is another symbol, Inge, albeit one that can do real damage. However, it can be used in any number of ways.” He put the whip on his head, strands first, where it sat with the handle sticking up, looking entirely absurd. The knots formed a bizarre fringe over his eyes and he scrunched up his forehead into a comical frown. “I could use it as a wig, if I so chose,” he said.

It took Inge a second, but then she burst into a fit of surprised and somewhat nervous giggles. Sherlock took the thing off his hair and smiled at her. “A game, Inge, nothing more, to allow you to understand a little about what your friend is experiencing, and to allow me to prove a point. This thing,” he twirled the whip in the air and caught it by the handle, “will not hurt you tonight.” As he caught the whip he brought his arm across, swinging the thing hard towards her stomach but stopping just short. The strands caught her with a soft slap, and she gasped and looked back at him, surprise at the fact that there was no pain written across her face. He grinned. “As I said to your friend, the outcome depends on the skill of the wielder. I can use this to rip the skin off your back, or I can tickle your stomach with it. Or I can, indeed, wear it as a wig.”

She looked at him with big eyes full of awe, and Bethany could see that her fear had changed into adoration, and she could only admire Sherlock’s skill at playing people with the same ease as he played his violin. While she realised that he had manipulated her in much the same way on many occasions in the last few months and it should make her feel uncomfortable, she found she could not feel that particular emotion, oddly enough finding only trust where discomfort should sit. She sighed quietly, unable to make sense of it, and he cast her a quick glance and smiled slightly, clearly pleased to see her reaction. Then he brought his attention back to Inge, walking around the back of her. “Now, the skin on your back is not as sensitive, and I can do this,” he brought down the whip, not forcefully, but hard enough for it to land with a resounding slap, “without causing you any real pain.”

Inge jumped, letting out a yelp, and spun around. Sherlock stood and watched her reaction, his smile broadening as her initial shock and outrage of him hitting her turned to confusion that there was no actual pain remaining after the sudden but slight sting of the whip’s landing. She muttered a quiet curse as her body relaxed, once more regarding him with awe, and he grinned at her. “Well then. If you will allow me I will continue my story, and I promise you that I will not cause you any more pain than that, unless, of course, you request otherwise.”

She stared at him, and asked, “Why... why would I do such a thing?”

The smile he gave her was more knowing than she cared for, and as he said with great amusement, “Because you might enjoy it,” she closed her eyes, muttering a string of random obscenities. When she opened her eyes again he was still watching her, but seriously now. “Shall we continue?”

Inge looked at him long and hard, clearly attempting to make some sensible decision, but in the end she, too, realised that she was far too far down this path to turn back now. She took a deep breath and nodded, and he acknowledged her consent with a little bow, taking the reins once more. Bethany thought this was more like a dance than anything else, the subtle push and pull of lead-and-follow, a giving and taking of control that relied on trust, and she contemplated that he was a master of it because he was at exactly the same point as they had been some moments before, but instead of panicking Inge had now given him her full consent.

\--oOo--

To Inge’s surprise Sherlock put the whip back in his pocket, pulling a length of leather thonging from his coat instead. He proceeded to tie the leather into a knot consisting of two loops, and looked back at her. “Let us assume then that I may decide that for your safety and my convenience it is better that you are unable to jump around, or in fact run off,” he said as he took her arms one by one, sliding the loops over her hands and onto her wrists. He pulled the ends, tightening the loops around her arms as she looked at him quietly, once more getting drawn into his tale, but this time with a sense of calm and trust that Bethany found moving. Sherlock studied Inge’s face a moment, saw the same, and kissed her forehead. “Good.”

He led her to the prow seat next to where Bethany was watching, got her to hold onto the railings as he gently bent her over and tied the ends of the leather straps to the ropes. “And so we complete the exchange of power,” he said, “because now I have full control over you, since you have allowed me to take it, and it has left you with no further choices on anything, not even where or how you stand.” He stood back and regarded her as he took the cat-o’-nine-tails from his pocket, the girl’s soft shape glowing in the light of the slowly setting moon, her breathing calm and deep and even as she submitted to him, and he smiled and ran his hand over the length of her back. “And as you are finding, there is a certain freedom in that.” Inge took a deep breath and sighed, and Sherlock added, “Bethany will keep an eye on you for me, and I do not require you to count. I simply wish you to commit to the experience and give me your honest opinion afterwards, if you can.”

Inge nodded quietly, and Sherlock began to run the strands of the cat-o’-nine-tails over her back slowly, the cords touching her all over as her breathing deepened even more, her body relaxing to him further rather than tensing with fear. Every so often he would lift the whip and bring it down with a small slap on a different part of her body, and she would let out a little moan or whimper, moving her body to meet the contact as much as her restrained position allowed her to. As he went on the force with which he did this increased, as did the magnitude of her reactions, but the lashes remained light and Bethany did not believe they could be causing her pain in any real way.

After he had carried on in this way for some time Sherlock suddenly lifted the whip and brought it down with some force, catching her side as it curled around her stomach, and Inge gasped in surprise at the sudden sting of pain and the fact that he could reach a part of her body that she had believed was protected. Sherlock followed the lash immediately with a stroke of his hand, soothing where he had inflicted pain, and she shuddered and relaxed again. Then he carried on tracing the whip around her body, putting down another lash across her shoulders some moments later, soothing it down with his hand again straight afterwards, and Inge moaned at the confusion of sensations she was experiencing, her eyes closed now. Sherlock carried on, laying down the whip across her back, her shoulders, her buttocks, soothing the skin as he went as Inge became more and more caught up in her own world, breathing heavily, moaning quietly every time she breathed out. Then he suddenly stopped.

“So, that is as much force as we have agreed to, Miss Inge. Tell me how much pain you are in.”

Inge took a moment to come back to the real world, as she blinked and shook her head. “What? No. No pain, Sir.”

He chuckled, tracing a finger over her back and buttocks. She shuddered lightly and let out a small moan. “Well then,” he said, “you may ask me to increase the intensity, if you wish.”

Inge cursed quietly, clearly struggling with the realisation that she indeed wished for this, but too embarrassed to admit it. Eventually she forced the words out. “Yes, please, Sir.”

Sherlock hummed a moment, catching Bethany’s eye with a wicked glint. “Yes, please, Sir, _what_ , Inge?” As Inge cursed eloquently Bethany shook her head at him, quietly berating him for the sweet torture he was inflicting on her friend, but Sherlock just grinned at her and returned his attentions to Inge, still tracing his finger over her lightly. “Your request is not clear, girl.”

Inge moaned and cursed again. “Sweet fucking Freya Sir, please do as you wish. Your last promise was not... hngggg... necessary.” Sherlock had brushed past her sex as she was speaking, and Inge dissolved into a muttered stream of obscenities as he calmly slid his finger inside her. He chuckled again. “Very well.”

He put a lash squarely across her shoulder then, hard, but with nowhere near the force he had used on Bethany. Inge gasped with the surprise of it, tears springing to her eyes, and for a moment Bethany thought she was going to panic again, but her friend simply swore loudly and reverently, managing to slot a _Sir_ in at the last moment which earned her another chuckle from Sherlock, who had returned to stroking her back. He lashed her again when she had calmed down a little, this time landing the whip across her buttocks, and it could not be accidental that he aimed low, brushing her sex with the centre of the strands as the knots landed on her muscle. She gasped and let out a long moan that ended in another heartfelt curse.

Sherlock stood a moment, stroking Inge’s buttock where his lash had landed. “I swear you girls spent all your childhood practicing the foulest language you could possibly find on the island. I’ve had seasoned crew that cursed less.” Before Inge could react he had put another lash solidly across her buttocks, hitting the other side this time, a little harder. Inge shrieked as tears came to her eyes again, and she stood for a moment gasping as the stinging pain turned to heat, managing not to swear, as Sherlock stroked her skin and chuckled. “Better.”

Again the whip came down on her back, slightly harder than the last time, and Inge cried out briefly before she gasped with surprise, as Sherlock’s other hand went not to her back where the lash had landed, but to her sex, stroking her clit lightly and then once again sliding a long finger  into her. Before she had a chance to make sense of the feelings he had put the whip across her shoulder again, slightly to the side so that the strands just caught  the outside of her breast. Her gasps quickly turned into moans as he once more stroked her clit, and he repeated the pattern, catching her buttocks again, running two fingers inside her. Inge was becoming incoherent as he went on, leaving just enough time between his lashes for her to recover, not allowing her to gain control of her senses by stimulating her with his other hand while the pain faded, and Bethany watched her face as her friend became completely absorbed in the experience, with little conscious thought remaining.

Eventually Sherlock put down a lash across Inge’s back that made her cry out in pain, and he followed it with kisses as he stroked her sex, and she let out a gasp that was half sob. Then he stopped and dropped the whip as she struggled to recover her senses, stroking her waist with both hands as she calmed and her breathing slowly returned to normal. “And that, Inge,” he said, “is the point at which I must stop, because otherwise I would be reneging on a different promise I made tonight, which was not to cause you physical harm. And given your complete lack of experience I am not prepared to go there.”

Inge let out an unintelligible noise, and Sherlock chuckled. “However, I do believe I have proven my point sufficiently well.” He bent over and kissed her back, stroking her skin as he did so, slowly making his way towards her buttocks. He gave Bethany a sly wink as he moved his kisses towards Inge’s sex, kissing her wetness before slowly and deliberately pushing his tongue inside her.

Inge was completely still for a very brief moment while she registered what he was doing, and then with an incredulous “ _All the fucking Gods_ ” her knees buckled as she came, almost completely unable to move as Sherlock held onto her legs, still pushing into her, her immobility only adding to the strength of her orgasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to find sex scenes impossible to write. "He touched her. They had sex. She had an orgasm. Afterwards they both felt great." 
> 
> Not sure how I have just spent nearly 5,000 words on a single scene, but there you go.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany's mum turns out to be surprisingly cool.

When Inge was spent Sherlock sat back on deck and giggled. “Ah, I would have paid good money to see the look on your face, Miss Inge. All the fucking Gods, indeed.” He shook his head. Inge, on her part, was entirely unable to answer him, having sunk onto her knees on the deck, still hanging onto the railings by the makeshift handcuffs, making small, senseless noises. Bethany was stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, not sure whether it was her place to untie her friend but wishing to comfort her nevertheless. With a final suppressed giggle Sherlock stood up and moved over onto the seat, quickly undoing the knots and releasing Inge, who slid onto the deck like a dead weight. He hoisted her onto his lap and checked her over, and finding that the leathers had left considerable marks on her wrists spent some time rubbing some circulation back into her skin. Then he looked at her face. “Well then, Miss Inge, your honest opinion, if you please.”

She stared at him with a dazed expression for a while, trying to find a response. Eventually she clearly decided that words were not going to appear anytime soon, and she simply took Sherlock’s face in both her hands and kissed him deeply.

He came up grinning. “I will certainly take that for an answer,” he said, carefully unfastening the collar around Inge’s neck. They both looked at it a moment as held it, turning it slowly around in his hands. “You could come with us if you wanted, if only for a few months,” he said, looking back at her.

Inge blinked at him, not really able to respond. Sherlock smiled at her face. “A little unfair of me to spring that on you at this time,” he said. “Let me have your answer tomorrow. We will sail before sundown.” She looked at him, hard. “What happens after the few months, Sir?” Her voice was slow and a little vague, but the question was clear enough. Sherlock looked at her gently. “I would make sure you two stay together.”

\--oOo-- 

They returned to the little harbour just as the first grey fingers of dawn started to creep over the eastern horizon. Inge had fallen asleep with her head on Bethany’s lap as Sherlock sailed them back, and after mooring the boat he scooped her up in his arms and carried the sleeping girl home through the deserted village, followed by Bethany who had Inge’s clothes. They put her to bed without waking the household and left her, and Bethany wondered if her friend would wake up to think it had all been a dream.

Back on the ship she dithered a while as Sherlock went around putting the things of the night away, and she watched his graceful movements as he went about the deck collecting the oil lamps and stowing them back in the chest, wondering if he ever did anything without purpose. When he was finished he came over to her. “Something you need to say, Bethany?”

She looked at the deck and his well-travelled boots, and nodded. “I need to apologise, Sir, for trying to stop Inge coming here tonight.” Lifting her eyes to his face she found him watching her calmly. “What you did with her, Sir, was a thing of beauty. I’m sorry I tried to stop it from happening.”

He regarded her seriously for a while, then nodded. “Accepted. I realise you were trying to protect your friend, Bethany, but as I have told you several times before, I am not a monster. She was never in any danger from me.” Bethany nodded and looked back at the deck, but Sherlock pulled her up. “Look at me.”

She returned her gaze to him, finding him grave. “It is your lack of loyalty and trust that disappointed me most, Bethany, because those are what I value above all else.”

Bethany swallowed, feeling suddenly small, hating the feeling that she had come up short of his expectations. In a small voice she said, “I’m sorry, Sir,” as she cast her eyes back to the deck, unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, but he took her chin and made her look back again and she stood, almost drowning in his clear gaze, trembling slightly until he smiled. “I do believe you are,” he said, and kissed her.

Relief flooded her body as she returned the kiss fervently, boldly taking his face in her hands as she yielded to him, drinking in his forgiveness as if it was the stuff of life and swearing to herself that she would never fall out of his favour again. He grinned as he broke off the kiss, pulling her shirt over her head in a single easy movement, his hands on her body and his lips back on hers before the fabric even hit the deck. With one hand he undid her skirt and pushed it to the ground, never breaking his kiss, and then he lifted her up and bodily put her on the hard wood of the deck, freeing his erection as she lay gazing up at him, breathless, and he took her in the clear light of dawn with an abandon and freedom of spirit that swept her away, re-staking his claim on her, her cries and moans ringing out over the harbour for all who went about their early morning business to hear.

\--oOo--

Sherlock had sent Bethany to her bunk to catch some sleep after they finished, and she woke in the middle of the morning to the sounds of busy activity above her on the deck. She got dressed and climbed up to see if she was needed, and found that Hiccup had returned from his night’s excursion and was busy helping Sherlock load provisions and stores onto the ship. He took one look at Bethany and just shook his head, calling over to Sherlock who was standing some distance away. “Sherlock, your girl is wandering around the deck looking like some debauched houri again. I can see she’s clearly had a great night, but honestly, you should take more pride in the appearance of your staff.”

Sherlock looked Bethany over as he walked across. “It appears you are right, Master Hiccup. Bethany, you may as well make the most of having access to fresh water while we’re here. I’m sure your parents would be happy to provide you with washing facilities. Tell your father I will be collecting the sheep shortly.”

Bethany attempted to run a comb through her hair before wandering through her village, wondering vaguely what a houri was. From Hiccup’s expression it wasn’t complimentary, and she worried about him being clearly upset with her still. When she had broken several teeth of the little bone comb she gave up and decided that her reputation was probably already destroyed here anyway, and made her way off the ship and to her parents’ house, keeping her eyes on the deck, the gang plank and the ground as she went.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany’s mother’s jaw dropped as she opened the door to her daughter, and she took her arm without a word and marched her to the little yard behind the house where Kari was playing in the morning sunlight. She made Bethany strip as she filled two buckets from the well and watched as she washed her hair in the first one, holding a rough strip of linen, a wash cloth and a coarse towel. The water was cold and Bethany shivered as she dipped her head in, rinsing the sweat and tears from her face and realising quite how much of a mess she had felt and probably looked. As she was contemplating feeling better she felt her mum’s hand on her back, tracing marks. “What are these, Bethany?”

Bethany sat up and closed her eyes, water dripping all over her face. She hadn’t thought, she should have gone to Inge’s instead and avoided the questions, and as she berated herself for sheer stupidity she took a deep breath. “Mum, the scars are from when I escaped. Master Sherlock punished me severely, but he let me live. They don’t hurt me, and it’s a long time ago.”

Hoping that this would be enough for her mother she returned to rinsing her hair. To her surprise she felt her mum’s hand on her back again. “There’s bruises, Bethany, and they are very recent.”

She swallowed as she sat up once more. It hadn’t occurred to her that last night’s lashing might have left marks, and she wasn’t sure what to tell her mum. In the back of her mind the thought occurred that Sherlock knew full well what her back looked like, and he’d sent her off to her parents like that, probably to make some kind of point. She sighed. “I did something stupid, mum, something that I have told everyone else not to do, and Master Sherlock unfortunately pointed out my mistake. But I didn’t realise it had marked.”

Her mum muttered something rude under her breath, dropping the cloths on the floor in disgust as she stood up. “Pointed out your mistake? What you mean to say is he hit you until it bruised. Don’t make it sound better than it is, Bethany.”

She looked at the ground, thinking of what to say. “Mum, I hate to say this, but I deserved it. I went against him when I had no right or even reason to do so. This thing,” she touched the collar around her neck, “...it’s not for show, mum. But I think I got a bit too comfortable about it. He’s let me get away with so many things before.”

Her mum looked at her darkly. “Well if he’s hitting my girl he’s going to have to deal with me.”

Bethany said, “Mum...” just as Sherlock’s voice came from the corner of the courtyard. “I would be delighted to hear what you have to say on the matter, Mrs Agnes.”

\--oOo-- 

The two women looked up in perfect synchrony to see Sherlock leaning against the corner of the house, looking like he’d been there for a while. Kari shrieked with delight and ran to him as Bethany coloured, but her mum walked over and squared up to him, pointing at Bethany. “I don’t care who or what you are, mister, but you’d better have a damned good excuse for doing that to my daughter.”

Bethany looked at her mother with complete amazement. How she had changed from the cowering wreck when she had first encountered Sherlock to this fuming creature filled with fury she could not fathom, but at that moment she was insanely proud of her, even though she feared for her safety. She went and stood next to her, still dripping, intending to defend her if needed, but Sherlock just smiled and walked over, taking her mum’s hand and bringing it to his lips, Kari trailing behind him. “I cannot apologise for hurting your daughter, Mrs Agnes, because I have a need to maintain discipline on my ship which overrides any possible sentiment on my part, but I apologise if this upsets you.” he said, “I would have done the same with any member of my crew in the situation, and I can assure you it is nothing personal, nor is it in fact anything to do with your daughter’s unfortunate status.”

Agnes looked at him with a mixture of awe and rage but she stood her ground, scowling at him. “If her status is so unfortunate, you can just release her.”

Sherlock let go of her hand, drew himself up to his full height and put his hands in his pockets, looking down at Agnes with amusement. Then he turned to Bethany. “Bethany, if I were to set you free today, what would you do?”

Bethany looked at him, at her mum, at Kari hugging Sherlock’s leg, and eventually at the ground. “I... I would ask to go with you, Sir. Sorry, mum.”

Her mother looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and resignation, and then back at Sherlock, who was glowing with smugness, with a look of disgust. “You don’t deserve her, mister, if you treat her like that.”

Instead of answering Sherlock took Bethany’s hand, leading her back to the place where she had been washing her hair. Taking off his coat and putting it aside he picked up the linen strip and tied her hair out of the way. He ran his fingers over her back a moment, considering the bruises, then he stooped down and picked up the wash cloth, dipping it in the bucket. With an air of complete calm he proceeded to wash her gently, turning her around as he went, occasionally refreshing the water on the cloth and making sure to avoid Kari who was making waves in the bucket. Bethany’s mum watched him in silence while trying to hold onto her rage, but it was hard when her daughter was showing such trust in him and Sherlock displayed such care towards her and her sibling. He looked back at her. “I am not in the habit of abusing my staff, Mrs Agnes. Regardless of the stories you may have heard about me, the people who I choose to surround myself with have always been treated well. But I will correct disloyalty when I encounter it in whichever way I see fit.” He picked up the towel and began to dry Bethany down, frowning at the coarse fabric. “And I have to say, Mrs Agnes, Bethany has access to considerably better linen with me.”

Bethany couldn’t help but giggle, and Sherlock stared at her in mock offense. “Well, it’s true. My towels are superior. Even the ancient ones the slaves have to use.” She frowned at him. “They are all the same, Sir. I should know, I wash them all,” she said, sounding a little confused. Sherlock’s smile couldn’t be more satisfied. “So they are.” He turned serious again. “Unfortunately the same can’t be said about the food. Tell your mother about the harsh diet you are being kept on.”

Bethany smiled at him, realising what he was doing. She looked towards her mum. “I cook it all myself, mum, and everybody eats the same. I think maybe Master Sherlock should be complaining about the harsh diet I have been keeping him on instead.” Sherlock shook his head calmly. “I have no complaints.”

He handed Bethany the towel and put on his coat again, then turned to Bethany’s mum. “Your daughter’s life is comfortable, Mrs Agnes, and you have said yourself that she looks well. But I hope she will be able to confirm all this with you herself as I collect my sheep.” He walked over to her and took her hand to kiss it once more. She allowed it, but scowled at him just the same. “You are a clever man, Sir, and I am glad to see her happy, but I hope to Freya that you will not simply cast her aside like she is nothing when you get bored of her. I have met men like you before.”

He stopped then, slightly taken aback by finding her not so easily charmed, and looked at her closely. She met his eye with surprising calm. “She is not a toy, mister,” she added.

He contemplated her a moment. “Well,” he said eventually, seriously, “There really is nothing like the wrath of a mother. For what it is worth, I give you my promise that I will ensure she well cared for when I no longer have a need for her.”

Bethany’s mum narrowed her eyes at him. “In that case I hope to Freya you are as good as your word, Sir. Because you will break her heart when you do.”

Instead of replying he bowed to her and turned on his heel, disappearing from the yard in search of Bethany’s father, followed by Kari who skipped after him. As soon as he left Agnes sagged, sinking to the ground with her back to the wall, holding her hands over her face and shaking. “Oh my goodness, dear Freya. Oh Bethany, what did I just do. I don’t know what came over me. I thought he was going to kill me.”

Bethany ran to her mother and hugged her. “Mum, you are the bravest person I know. Thank you for standing up for me.”

Her mum burst into tears, hugging her daughter tight. “Oh my girl, he’s ruthless. Don’t let him hurt you.”

Bethany kissed her mum’s forehead. “I know, mum. I have no illusions about what he is capable of.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE  
> I will summarise in the next chapter. 
> 
> In which Bethany has a horrific experience and Sherlock proves that the stories are indeed all true.

It was in a contemplative mood that Bethany left her parents’ little house in the early afternoon, having hugged Kari and told her to stay behind, the little girl desperate to come with her to see Inge. Her mum had told Bethany some stories about her own early life that she had never heard before, how as a young woman she had been charmed by a man that had come to the island with a group of merchants and stayed for weeks, courting her and promising her the world. She had fallen head over heels for him against all the advice of her friends and her parents, only for him to disappear without a trace one night, never to return. She’d waited and pined until Eirik had taken matters into his own hands and told her a few home truths, and she had finally realised her childish foolishness but been left broken-hearted in the process. It explained perfectly why she had reacted so viciously to Sherlock, and Bethany mused on her mum’s bravery and her own possible fate as she wandered up to the top of the village to visit her friend.

She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t realised she was being followed, and as she turned a corner she was caught completely unprepared when she suddenly felt strong hands grabbing her, slamming her against the wall of the house she had passed. Her head hit the wooden panelling with a smack and she was momentarily dazed, her world spinning as her right arm was forced upwards behind her back. She cried out in pain and tried to struggle free, but whoever was holding her only pushed harder, and she felt an ominous cracking sensation in her shoulder as the pain intensified threefold. Terrified, she stood still, the rough wood of the wall cutting into her face, tears in her eyes. Behind her, a voice full of disgust said, “If I push any harder I think something will break, Bethany.”

Bethany’s eyes widened in shock as she recognised the voice to be Geir’s. She tried to turn and look at him but found she couldn’t, agony shooting through her arm at the slightest movement. “Geir, please, what are you doing?” she stammered.

He pulled her roughly back off the wall, pushed her forward and started walking her between the houses without so much as a word, away from the path to Inge’s house and down towards the southern edge of the village. Bethany was crying by now, trying to attract the attention of the occasional villager they passed, but finding that people took one glance at her and looked away, not wishing to interfere. Behind her Geir laughed with satisfaction. “You see that, Bethany? You mean nothing to them anymore. You come here, swanning about with your fancy new boyfriend, showing off that disgusting thing around your neck like it’s some kind of trophy, but you’re nothing. As far as Sundvik is concerned you’re dead.”

They had left the edge of the village and gone into the fields, and Geir threw her down on her face on a piece of grass between some small trees, letting go of her arm. Bethany struggled to her hands and knees in an attempt to escape, crying, but he grabbed her legs and dragged her back, the coarse grass and hidden roots scratching her skin painfully. He flipped her over and sat on her stomach, catching her arms as she threw punches at him, and grinned. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this, Bethany. You were mine, remember? Before you entered this wonderful new life of yours?” He spat on the ground. “Well, now I will take what I should have rightfully had all along.”

Bethany looked up at him through her tears. “Please, Geir, let me go. You don’t have to do this.” She struggled pointlessly for a moment but his hold was too strong, and he grinned at her again, taking her wrists into one hand. “Save your energy, Bethany. There’s no point.” Digging in his pocket he pulled out a piece of rope and tied her hands together, the coarse cord digging into her skin harshly. Then he reached over her and tied the other end to the trunk of one of the little trees, pulling the rope tight so that her arms were pulled upwards, immobilising her. He slid down her body, coming to rest on her legs, and grinned at her again. “Well, look at you. Where’s your boyfriend now, Bethany? Down on his pretty boat, I would bet.”

She was still crying, begging him to stop, as he roughly pulled up her shirt, exposing her breasts. He ran his hands over them, laughing at her distress as he did so, eyeing her body with a vicious grin. Then he stood up and took off his breeches, standing over her as she scrambled backwards as far as she could against the tree and began to attempt to undo the rope around her wrists with her teeth, clutching her arms to her chest. He laughed again. “You don’t give up, do you, Bethany. Just face it. You’re not getting out of this.”

Once more he grabbed her legs and dragged her across the ground forcefully, pulling her skirt and shirt up behind and across her and cutting her back on the rough ground as he did so, leaving her exposed to him and unable to move as she cried and pleaded. He grinned. “Perfect.”

He moved between Bethany’s legs, holding her down with one hand on her stomach and pushing his fingers into her with the other with a face filled with greed, grinning at her tears as she struggled to get free of him. “Admit it, you enjoy it, Bethany,” he said as he removed his hand and licked his fingers, holding her eye as he did so, “I bet he does this to you all the time. I bet you love it.” Then he positioned himself over her and grabbed her hair as he leaned down, kissing her full on the mouth.

With desperate strength Bethany yanked her head sideways and bit him, her teeth finding his bottom lip as she sank them down with all her might. Geir howled, pulling himself free of her, blood streaming from his mouth and he looked at her in rage as he hit her hard across her face with the back of his hand. “You fucking bitch.” Bethany screamed in pain and shock, tasting blood in her own mouth now, and he grabbed her hair with one hand and covered her mouth with the other as he climbed back on top of her. He held her down as he thrust himself into her roughly and she looked at him in horror, whimpering quietly, tears streaming down her face as he began to pump her hard and fast, grunting as he went.

\--oOo--

Neither of them heard the quiet swish of wings and the soft thud of the dragon’s landing. The first they knew of Sherlock’s arrival was the sharp point of a rapier appearing at Geir’s throat, and Sherlock’s voice, calm and icy but loud enough to hear over Geir’s grunts, speaking out to him. “Get your filthy yokel body off my property.”

Geir froze and Bethany looked up through her tears to find Sherlock standing beside her, calmly holding his sword to Geir’s throat, with Hiccup and Toothless close behind him. Hiccup’s face was full of shock and rage and Toothless was growling, ready to jump in if needed. She closed her eyes, tears of terror turning to tears of relief as Sherlock dragged Geir off her, keeping his rapier to the man’s throat with his other hand until he was standing in front of him. Then, considering the cowering, bleeding, half-naked man a moment he put his weapon away and simply floored him with one mighty punch to the face. “That one is for the girl.”

As Geir lay in a heap, moaning faintly, both Sherlock and Hiccup came to Bethany’s aid. She had scrambled backwards into the tree again and Hiccup cut her bonds in shocked silence while Sherlock spoke reassuring words to her, kneeling by her side and checking her rapidly bruising face gently as she sat, crying and shaking. When she had the use of her hands back he checked her wrists, finding that the ropes had cut her skin where she had struggled. He kissed her face as he let go of her hands and she took hold of his coat instead, unwilling to break the comfort of the contact, and he drew her into a hug as she sobbed, clutching onto him for dear life. Sherlock contemplated the shaking girl a while, stroking her hair with a look of concern on his face. Then he seemed to make up his mind, and sighed. “Master Hiccup, I wonder if you might comfort the lady a moment. I need to see to the filth.”

It took a while to convince Bethany to let go of Sherlock and move over to Hiccup, who took hold of her gently as he sat down with her, hugging her as she slowly calmed down, and for once he was unable to find the words to make this better. They watched as Sherlock got up and walked over to Geir, who had slowly come to his senses and was now sitting on the ground, staring in terror at Toothless. The dragon sat right across from him, teeth bared, growling softly.

When he saw Sherlock approach the man began to scramble backwards, but Sherlock shot out a long arm, grabbed the back of his tunic and dragged him to his feet, turning him to face Bethany. Standing behind Geir he held onto the man’s long hair and put the rapier across his throat, sharp end first. Geir burst into unintelligible jabbering, as Sherlock calmly said, “Well then, Bethany, would you like to do the honours, or shall I do this myself?”

Bethany could feel Hiccup tense behind her, and she looked at Sherlock in horror. “No, please, Sir, don’t,” she stammered through her tears. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Give me one reason why he should live.”

She shuddered, Sherlock’s stone cold willingness to dispatch her assailant chilling her to the core. “Please, Sir, I do not wish to see you kill him.”

Sherlock shrugged, the sword cutting a small gash in Geir’s neck as he did so, making the man wail quietly as a thin trail of blood trickled down his throat. “Fine. I will take him out of your sight first.”

Bethany just shook her head at him in horror. “Please.”

Sherlock sighed, clearly frustrated. “Very well.” He put the rapier away after wiping it carefully on Geir’s tunic, then turned the man around to face him. “Your unfortunate victim has just shown herself to be an infinitely better human being than you can ever aspire to be. I will give you a chance, but no more than that.” He checked the sun, and then turned to Hiccup and Bethany. “Wait here. I will be back shortly.”

He turned to go, but Hiccup stopped him. “Ehm, what are you doing with him, Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at him a moment, then pointed to the sky. “The tide is out, we’re on the south side of the island, so there’s plenty of tidal pools beckoning just beyond the hill. This disgusting excuse for a human being will be asked to enter one, and I will make sure he is unable to leave. And then we will see if he has any friends that care enough to look for him quickly. If not, he will be a feast for the crabs.”

They both stared at him, speechless. Bethany began to protest, but Sherlock shook his head, quite serious. “It is a concession as it is, Bethany. I consider the matter closed,” he said as he turned around and marched his terrified, blubbering captive down the hill.

Not a word passed between Bethany and Hiccup as they waited, until Hiccup finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. “Has a lot of friends, does he, Geir?” Bethany looked at him with eyes that still reflected the horror of her experience. “No, Sir. He’s not a popular man.”

Hiccup studied her face as she looked at him, taking in her damaged cheek, the eye that was sure to blacken, the small trail of blood still visible at her nose. He stroked the good side of her face gently. “Are you alright, Bethany?” She looked at his kind face, his look of concern barely hiding that he, too, was grossly out of his depth here, and shook her head, tears welling up again. Hiccup sighed and kissed her forehead, and she cried as he drew her into another tight hug.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany wasn’t sure how she felt when Sherlock appeared over the hill again, looking calm and a little smug. He stopped in front of the huddled pair. “It is done. Time to go back.” He took Bethany’s hand, making her stand up, and added, “For your information, should he live, I have ensured the bloodline stops with him.”

Bethany frowned at him, not sure what he was getting at, but Hiccup went white, and whispered. “By the Gods, Sherlock.” Sherlock, on his part, flashed him a wicked smile. “The crabs will have a couple of little snacks, and the filth will never have the urge again. I call that a result, Master Hiccup.”

Bethany finally caught up with what Sherlock was talking about, and looked at him with a face that was only partly shock, unable to hide her awe. “Dearest Freya, Sir.” He grinned, and gently kissed her. “At least the lady appreciates my intentions.”

He left her a moment, picking up Geir’s breeches. Putting his hand in a pocket he pulled out a folding knife, which he opened to show a long, sharp blade, then turned to Hiccup. “Before you throw yourself into a fit of righteous outrage, Master Hiccup, consider that this man had no intention to let our friend live.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which goodbyes are said.

When they arrived back at Bethany’s parents’ little cottage Kari came running to meet them. She threw herself at Sherlock, shouting, “You rescued her, Sir!” Then she looked at Bethany and her little face fell. “Bethany, you’re hurt.” She transferred her embrace from Sherlock to Bethany, who held her little sister, not sure how Kari could possibly know what had happened. Sherlock met her questioning gaze. “I apologise that we did not get there sooner, but your sister’s legs are only little and it was a long run for her to the Storm Petrel.”

It took Bethany a moment to piece together what he was saying, and then she hugged her little sister even more tightly. “Kari. You followed me.”

The commotion outside drew Bethany’s mum out, who took one look at Bethany and shouted back into the house, “Eirik!” Then she barged out, heading straight to Sherlock, her face furious. “Did you do this?”

Sherlock sighed. “Oh, here we go, it’s Blame the Pirate time. Mrs Agnes, do you really think I wish my staff to look like this? Honestly, I don’t understand why you people spend so much time spreading horror stories about me when this is how Sundvik treats its own. Without me and Master Hiccup she’d be dead.”

Bethany’s dad appeared in the doorway just as Agnes asked, “Bethany, who did this?” Bethany looked at her dad, and back at her mum, and said, “It was Geir, mum.”

In the doorway her dad swore, but Bethany’s mother seemed to grow two inches taller, fuming. “That disgusting piece of filth. I will kill him.”

Sherlock flashed a smile at her. “That is taken care of, Mrs Agnes.”

Shocked at his matter-of-factness, Agnes looked back at him with her mouth open. “He’s dead?”

Sherlock looked at her a moment, up at the sun, and then across to Eirik. “Possibly. It depends how quickly the tide comes in on the southern shore.”

It took him a moment, but then Bethany’s dad swore again and hurried past Sherlock, looking at him darkly. Agnes, on the other hand, gave a derisive snort. “Well, that’s a search party I won’t be joining.”

\--oOo-- 

Bethany spent the rest of the afternoon on the prow seat of the Storm Petrel, watching the activity on the ship but feeling completely detached from it. Sherlock had taken handfuls of herbs from her mum’s garden – arnica, self-heal, eyebright – and he’d made her a poultice to hold against her swollen face which she held on to like it was a religious symbol. The cuts and grazes on her back and front and wrists he’d treated with some ointment, and then he’d discharged her from her duties for the rest of the day and gone about the business of getting the ship ready. Hiccup came and checked on her occasionally, putting down food and drink which she left untouched, and Toothless had curled up near her, but she felt distant from everything, reliving the morning’s events in her mind over and over again, staring blankly at the four sheep that were penned in to the side of her looking as lost as she felt.

By the late afternoon there was the sound of running feet on the gangplank and Inge appeared, breathless and looking extremely worried. She stopped at the railings, suddenly unsure about barging onto the ship, but Sherlock nodded his consent from the mast where he was checking over the rigging and she ran straight to her friend who was staring at the deck with a blank gaze.

Bethany lifted her eyes when she noticed Inge, momentarily woken from her stupor, and smiled weakly. Inge looked at her in shock and drew her into a hug, near to tears. “Oh Bethany, I only just heard, I’ve been in the fields all day. That complete bastard, what did he do to you?”

The story came out in dribs and drabs as Bethany struggled to describe her experience, but she found that putting the events into words helped, and Inge was the perfect audience. She listened to Bethany with patience, holding her hand, wiping her tears when things got too much, expressing her disgust and outrage in no uncertain terms and at the right moments. When Bethany had finished the girls sat in companionable silence for a while, holding hands, and Bethany looked across the deck of the ship as if she was looking at it for the first time that day. Inge watched her friend. “Did you realise what Sherlock did to him? To Geir, I mean? They found him, you know, all tied up to a big rock at the bottom of a tidal pool, gagged with the sleeve of his own tunic.”

Bethany nodded, not sure she wanted to know any more detail. “He told us what he was going to do, but I was just happy he wasn’t going to kill him there and then. Was he still alive?”

Inge nodded. “Just about, the tide wasn’t all the way in yet. He was a mess though. He, ehm...” she looked at Bethany, not sure how much she should say. “He’d lost a lot of blood, Bethany. Sherlock, ehm...” She stoped, looking embarrassed. Bethany smiled at her friend, who was not usually this circumspect. “I know what he did, Inge. Geir won’t be doing what he did to me again, ever, to anyone.” Inge tried desperately to keep a straight face, but burst out in giggles at the outrageousness of the act. “Oh my dearest Gods, he actually cut off his balls. Left the skin, mind you. Geir’s going to be Mr Flappy for the rest of his life.” She laughed out loud, hiccupping, and Bethany couldn’t help it, the mental image too absurd for words, and she giggled quietly along with her friend, letting a little bit of light back into her life.

\--oOo-- 

It was a small group that waved off the Storm Petrel as the day drew to a close. The village chief turned up, Inge commenting that he probably wanted to make sure they were actually going. Bethany’s family were there, and Kari was beaming when Sherlock gave her a full tour of the ship, her parents staying nervously on dry land. The little girl was even more delighted when Hiccup introduced her to Toothless and allowed her to sit on him, the dragon hopping carefully around the deck as Bethany's sister whooped with excitement and Sherlock frowned but said nothing. At the entrance of the harbour a small crowd of people had gathered, making the most of their last chance to see the notorious ship and its captain, and most of all relieved that they had lived to tell the tale. Lastly somebody must have run to Inge’s house, because her dad came trotting into the harbour looking panicked. He ran down to the ship but stopped short of walking onto the gang plank, looking up to find his daughter sitting in the prow with her friend, and he dithered at the moorings, clearly not sure of what to do.

Sherlock walked up to the two friends, Kari in tow as Hiccup went to cast off the first mooring lines. The girl was wearing Sherlock’s hat which was far too big for her and almost covered her eyes, and chattering excitedly about all the things she had seen on the ship. As it looked like there was going to be boring grown-up talk, she wandered off to hug the sheep goodbye instead. Sherlock looked approvingly at Bethany who was clearly bettering, and then turned to Inge, giving her a little bow. “We are ready to leave. I have come for your answer, Miss Inge.”

Inge blushed and stood up, looking at him in some surprise. “I... I wasn’t sure you were serious, Sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, I was. Have you thought about it?”

Down on the moorings, Inge’s dad was becoming more and more frantic as he watched Hiccup slowly release the ship. Whilst he couldn’t hear the conversation, the fact that there was a conversation going on at all and that his daughter was showing no intention of leaving was clearly enough of a worry for him. He paced up and down as close to the prow as he could get, trying to attract Inge’s attention.

Inge nodded at Sherlock’s question and looked down to the ground, studying her feet. “I have, Sir. And I would come with you.”

Sherlock watched her closely, waiting for her to continue. “But...?”

Inge cast an affectionate look at her dad, who was now making his way towards the gang plank, clearly having made a decision, and looked back at Sherlock. “My place is here, Sir. Ever since my mum died Dad has relied on me to help him with the farm and the house. I can’t leave him, it would finish him off.” Looking back at the ground, she added, “If it had just been me, I would not have hesitated, Sir. And I must thank you for last night.”

Sherlock gave her a little wry smile as he lifted her chin to make her look back at him. “I can only say I regret your somewhat boring decision, Miss Inge, but I will honour it.” Behind him, Inge’s dad appeared at the railings, shaking. He stopped dead when he saw Sherlock so close to his daughter, and Sherlock’s smile turned mischievous as he correctly interpreted the sounds behind him. “Don’t go marrying just any old yokel, Miss Inge, you are too good for that,” he said before taking her face in his hands and drawing her into a long and meaningful kiss that she returned with enthusiasm, her body pressed against him and her fingers tangled in his hair. When he broke off the kiss she was looking decidedly unsteady, and he grinned at her. “Now go, before I accidentally sail off with you still on board,” he said, and, bending close to her ear he added, in a whisper, “And that would not be the first time, either.”

She looked at him and made a little constrained noise, blushing furiously. Then he kissed her forehead and turned around, just as Inge’s dad came marching up to the front of the ship, having finally plucked up the courage, fuelled by outrage. Sherlock gave him a very pleasant smile. “Ah, there you are, Sir. Here is your daughter safely returned to you, with her honour almost entirely intact.” He took Inge’s hand and gave her a final twirl, before bowing to her and handing her over to her father, who had gone the shade of a beetroot. Inge giggled and turned back to Sherlock. “Thank you, Sir. I must say goodbye to Bethany though.”

\--oOo--

Sherlock sent Bethany down with Inge to say goodbye to her parents and her friend in the harbour, but Kari cried and refused to let go of his leg, and he lifted her up as he walked to the gangplank, apologising to her for having to leave. Then he kissed her cheek and told her to keep his hat as a parting gift, making her giggle and squeal in delight as she pulled the thing further over her head. He took the little girl down to the harbour and passed her to Agnes, who was saying a tearful goodbye to her oldest daughter, holding on to her hands and filling her ears with good advice. Sherlock waited a moment as they spoke their last parting words and then bowed to the family, taking Bethany’s hand. “Time to go.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things are fixed, at least a little.

Bethany watched her island diminish into the gathering darkness as the ship sped away on the waves, telling herself that she could still see it when it had long disappeared in the summer evening haze. There was no stopping the tears that were quietly rolling down her face as she looked into the night, and she was thankful when Hiccup joined her at the railings on the aft deck, calmly putting an arm around her. After a while, when she had calmed a little, she asked him the question that had been bothering her. “Master Hiccup, what’s a houri, please?”

She could hear Hiccup swallow beside her. “Ehm, Bethany, that was a spectacularly poor choice of word. I was angry and I shouldn’t have used it. I’m sorry.”

Thinking that that didn’t help her, Bethany stared back at the waves. To her surprise, Sherlock spoke from the rudder, his deep voice carrying easily over the quiet rush of the water. “Master Hiccup is mistaken, Bethany, because the word in its original form is used to describe a young woman of great loveliness and purity, who would await a man in the afterlife to become his splendid companion. It was never a slur.”

She looked at him, blushing, thinking that was the greatest compliment anyone had ever given her, and he held her eye kindly. When she looked back at Hiccup she found he had coloured too, but he smiled back at her, a little sheepish. “Yeah. I definitely meant it in that way.” Then he drew her back against him and sighed. “What’s it like to be a pawn, Bethany?” he asked, quietly. She didn’t answer him, simply leaning into him instead.

\--oOo--

They sailed until deep into the night, Sherlock changing tack halfway through and setting a completely different course to what they had set out on. “Just in case anyone had a mind to try and work out where we were going,” he explained. “The location of my home will remain a private matter.” Bethany noted that the ship was sailing without an ensign, returned to anonymity once more. For some reason it made her feel like she was disappearing without a trace, which in some ways, she thought, was true.

When Sherlock called it a night and lowered the sails, Hiccup readying the sea anchor, Bethany suddenly found herself rigid with tension. The thought of going below decks and getting changed, of exposing herself to anyone, or even worse, of Sherlock requesting her presence in his cabin, filled her with dread. She stood by the railings, shaking a little, and physically jumped when Sherlock came over and took her hand. He regarded her calmly. “You will sleep with me tonight, Bethany.”

She felt the blood drain from her face, but he sighed and shook his head, touching the good side of her face gently. “You will not sleep alone, Bethany, because the night is when our demons come out, and you will need someone to stay with you. That is all.” She looked at him, finding nothing but understanding, and he kissed her tears and gently took her with him.

\--oOo-- 

As the days went on the horror of Bethany’s experience slowly faded, replaced by the normality of everyday life as Sherlock returned her to her duties. The four confused sheep added a little to her workload but she enjoyed looking after them as they were a little piece of her home that travelled with them. In her spare time Sherlock told her to draw, saying she should put down what she needed to, and she didn’t understand what he meant until her pen began to create images that were filled with violence and fear, almost taking on a life of its own as she produced a series of drawings that were obscene and disturbing even to herself. She didn’t show her book to either of the men, and neither of them asked to see it.

Hiccup almost became her shadow in those days, keeping a watchful eye on her and often checking how she was doing, making sure she actually ate when she served them food, and sometimes just sitting with her and telling her tales of Berk. He had curtailed his long forays on Toothless, going out on shorter flights and staying close to the ship, and on occasion he would take her with him and she would sit behind him, holding on to his wiry frame with the wind rushing through her hair and the blood throbbing in her temples and for a brief moment she would be free from everything, becoming one with the wind and the waves they were skimming, with the great dragon that carried the two of them with ease, and with Hiccup’s undemanding kindness.

In contrast Sherlock left her alone, steering the ship in silence for most of the day and speaking few words, but she would often find his gaze upon her, studying her. At night he would gently undress her, calming her invariable panic at being approached so closely, and he would hold her and soothe her until her tears calmed down and she would sleep in his arms, safe in the knowledge that he was there when the nightmares hit her.

\--oOo-- 

One morning Bethany woke to find Sherlock sitting at his desk dressed only in his underhose, flicking through the drawings in her book in the early morning sunlight. He looked up at her embarrassed face before she could say anything, and said, kindly, “You’re going to run out of red at this rate, Bethany.” Then he closed the book and came to her, bending over to kiss her forehead as she lay looking at him, still warm and relaxed with sleep but already tensing at his touch and his proximity. He studied her reactions a moment and sighed, looking a little sad, and then said, “Tell me when to stop.”

He kissed her forehead again, gently tracing his fingers on her now rapidly healing bruises, following his touch with a row of kisses. Bethany tensed, unsure of his intentions, and he looked back at her again. “Tell me when to stop, Bethany,” he said, quite seriously, but she shook her head slightly at him, part of her wishing for his closeness, the other part terrified. He smiled at her and kissed her gently on the lips, stroking her hair lightly, and she found herself returning the kiss gingerly, lifting her hand to touch his face, finding that this was alright, there was no fear in it. He kissed her deeper then, his hands moving slowly onto her face and throat, his touch light and undemanding. When his fingers wandered onto her chest she tensed again, and he broke off his kiss and studied her frightened face, resting his hand lightly on her stomach. She swallowed, and breathed, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He shook his head lightly, serious, kissing her forehead again. “No. The apology has to be mine. I should have kept a better eye on him, Bethany. I’m afraid I got complacent. Before I retired this would never have happened.”

She looked at him, realising that for once he was being completely open with her, and stroked his face. “I don’t hold you responsible, Sir. That was all Geir.”

Sherlock looked at her gravely and then said, “Thank you.”

She smiled, realising at that moment that underneath the sophisticated and carefully cultivated frightening exterior he was just as human as her, a little broken, as she was, and she told him that she loved him and took his face in both her hands, drawing him into a kiss.

His response was gentle, softer than she thought he could be as he kissed her in return, his hands gently stroking her body as she yielded to him uncertainly, finding her way back to some level of trust. He moved over her as he entered the cabin bed and for a brief instant she froze, fear of being overpowered again flooding her, but he kept moving as if he hadn’t noticed and lay beside her near the hull of the ship, taking her in his arms and kissing her again as she relaxed once more, stroking her back gently.

Eventually he rolled her on top of him, and she lay on his bare skin looking into his calm eyes, summer sun flooding the room around them, feeling for the first time in days that everything was going to be alright, that the nightmare that she had got caught up in was just that, something that she could wake up and move on from, and not a thing that would make her feel like half a person for the rest of her life. His hardness underneath her felt almost like an irrelevance, an indication of his state but not a demand, and she kissed him again for being kind and patient when on the face of it he had no reason to be so, his ownership giving him the right to her, his reputation saying he should have taken her without further thought.

Sherlock responded to her kiss gently but with a clear invitation to take things further, running his hands lightly over her waist, encouraging her without pressure or force and she found herself being drawn into the moment as their kiss became more passionate, her arousal surprising her, but she was hesitant to take the next step for fear of sudden panic. He broke off the kiss and stroked her hair away from her face as she looked at him, fearful, and he kissed her cheeks and her eyes and her forehead, telling her it was alright, as she finally lowered herself onto him with tears in her eyes. Instead of letting her move he gently drew her to him, and they lay a while in this most intimate embrace, experiencing the moment as she listened to him breathe and felt him inside her, causing sensations she had believed she could never enjoy again.

Eventually Bethany’s own arousal became too much to bear and she pushed gently away from him, slowly establishing her own rhythm as he held onto her waist lightly to let her set the pace. He kept still, simply letting her drive the experience, and only when her arousal began to reach its peak did he begin to move with her, carefully watching her as he did so. She was grinding into him now, looking for more from him, and he responded by increasing his movements as she closed her eyes, finally able to let it all go, digging her nails into his skin as she came to orgasm moaning and crying, some of her broken pieces slotting firmly back into place.

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup noticed the change in her that day, giving her a delighted broad smile as he caught her singing a song to herself while she was mopping the deck. She smiled back, finding herself blushing a little, and he pulled her into a happy embrace and told her not to feel embarrassed for feeling better. She didn’t really think about it when she looked at his kind face and just kissed him full on the mouth, and after his initial shock he relaxed and let her have her kiss, maybe not encouraging her, but certainly not pulling away. After a moment she registered what she was doing and abruptly stopped, blushing furiously as he beamed at her in delighted surprise, and she stammered, “I’m... I’m sorry, Sir, that was too forward. I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t think...” He shook his head, still smiling, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m just glad to see you happy, Bethany.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock introduces an old friend.

The calm summer weather continued unabated over the following days, and the ship sailed steadily across the open sea as they all took turns at the tiller, making their way home by taking what Bethany hoped was the shortest route. They were quiet days, and for whole stretches of time the only sounds to be heard were the rush of the water and the creaking of the rigging while after doing her chores she would sit and draw or just look out over the sea, content, safe in this world where nothing happened other than the soft rocking of the ship and the occasional passing of dragons, where Sherlock played no games with her and Hiccup was always there with a friendly word. At night Sherlock played his violin and she would drift off on the strands of his beautiful music, often curled up with Hiccup and Toothless, gazing up at the sky and believing her life complete.

She still slept in Sherlock’s cabin where he gently explored with her the edges of her trust at night, finding her newfound barriers and softly pushing past or around them, which he did with humour and care as she slowly learned again to let go, because he was there when things went wrong and had a way of catching her panics before they started and turning them into laughter. If she believed she loved him before it was nothing compared to the fierce love and dedication that she felt towards him now, and the only dark cloud on her horizon was the knowledge that her future was not here, with him.

\--oOo-- 

Late on one afternoon Hiccup took Bethany out on Toothless, flying her high up above the sparse clouds that were dotting the sky that day. Telling her to hold on tight he made the dragon dive, pulling back as they gathered speed into a horizontal spin that had her shrieking with the thrill of it as Hiccup laughed and whooped, lifting his hands in the air until she yelled at him to hold on lest they both fall off. When Toothless rose slowly from the spin they were both giggling like children, and Bethany thought back to when she was terrified of even sitting on the dragon and laughed even harder. It seemed like nothing now, and as she looked out over the clouds she contemplated how fear was a flexible thing, those things that she might have considered her worst fears in the past no longer of note, and others that she might never have even thought about having now become her demons. It only made her more determined not to let fear define her and she hugged Hiccup tight and yelled a _thank you, Sir_ at him as they coasted above the clouds.

As they slowly turned to go back to the ship Hiccup suddenly tensed as he spotted something, and she looked over his shoulder to see what it might be. There was a large dot on the sea some way away, and as she looked harder she realised it was a big ship, easily three or four times the size of theirs, that appeared to be heading on course to run into the Storm Petrel. Hiccup carefully flew Toothless lower, doing a slow pass that allowed them to see more while keeping a safe distance, and they saw that it was a large two-master, mainly rigged with square sails, that looked to have a sizeable crew on board. It looked nothing like a Viking ship and flew no ensign, and Hiccup made Toothless fly another pass before turning back to their own ship, looking concerned.

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock had shared Hiccup’s concern when told what was approaching, and he climbed the mast to get a better view, spending a long time studying the oncoming ship from the yard. When he finally came down he looked serious, but wouldn’t answer Hiccup’s questions. Instead he asked him to keep the ship on course, went below decks and came back with the Storm Petrel’s ensign. He raised it, climbing back up the mast to see what the reaction of the other ship would be. Hiccup and Bethany could see that the bigger ship raised a flag of their own, but it was difficult to see what its emblem was from where they stood, and they looked up at Sherlock to see whether the news was bad or good.

When he came down again Sherlock was grinning, shaking his head with amusement, but he still refused to answer Hiccup’s questions and Bethany’s worried looks. He took the tiller off Hiccup and steered towards the larger ship, which was now approaching them head on at great speed, finally showing them that its ensign consisted of two red arrows crossed on a black background. The name _Narwhal_ was emblazoned in blue and gold lettering on the front of the ship that was now looming over them, and for a second Bethany thought they were going to be run over, but at the very last moment Sherlock pushed the tiller round hard, bringing the Storm Petrel alongside the bulk of the larger ship with a flourish and a spray of white water. To Bethany and Hiccup’s dismay a number of grappling hooks were thrown down from above, but Sherlock calmly fastened them to the railings as they were pulled taut by the crew from the bigger ship, securing the two ships together as the sails above their heads were furled and their speed slowly decreased until they were drifting in the open sea.

\--oOo-- 

The ships were barely joined when a scruffy looking ginger man wearing a captain’s hat leaned over the railing of the larger ship, calling down to Sherlock. “Permission to board, Cap’n.” Sherlock looked up to him, shook his head again, and said, “Granted, Captain.”

The man swung his long legs over the railing and slid down one of the lines, landing in front of Sherlock with a bounce. He was about the same height as him, wiry but strong-looking, his long ginger hair plaited in the Viking fashion, his beard kept short, more like he’d forgotten to shave for a few days. His brown breeches, light linen shirt and well-worn leather waistcoat were a complete contrast to Sherlock’s much more formal dress, and apparently he carried no weapon. Bethany guessed that the man was younger than Sherlock by about ten, fifteen years, although it was hard to tell his age as his face was weathered and tanned and covered in laughter lines.

The two men eyed each other up a moment, Sherlock’s face serious, the other man’s carrying a wicked smile. Then they suddenly both stepped forward and embraced each other strongly, and Sherlock said, “Ranald. It’s been a while. I see you have a new toy.”

The man in front of him grinned. “Good to see you too, Sherlock. Still floating about in your peapod, then?”

Sherlock made a scathing noise. “Better than sailing on a target the size of an island. Where did you get her?”

“Borrowed her off a rich merchant in Brittannia, just outside of London” Ranald beamed. “Your brother sends his regards.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Really. How is Mycroft? Is he ruling the country yet?”

“He’s ingratiated himself at court with direct access to the king, so, in a word, yes.” Ranald looked round. “So, what happened to retirement?”

Sherlock held up his hand and turned to Bethany, who’d been standing next to Hiccup some distance away, warily watching the conversation and the new arrival. “Bethany, food and a bottle of mead from my cabin, please. Master Hiccup, come and meet my former first mate Ranald. I believe you know his story.”

The men went off to the aft deck as Bethany went and fetched the mead first, carrying the bottle and three cups carefully up the ladder. She handed Sherlock the bottle and gave each of the men a cup, passing the last one to Ranald nervously. He took it off her and then took her hand gently, looking at her with clear green eyes. “Hello, little bird,” he said softly as she stood, frozen.

Taking a quick look at her face, Ranald raised his eyebrows and looked to Sherlock, who just said, “Clearly not my doing, Ranald. A former fiancé decided to take his frustration out on her.” Then he turned to Bethany. “Bethany, say hello to Master Ranald. Proof if you still needed it that I did, indeed, not kill him all those years ago.”

It took effort to get any words out at all, faced with the myriad emotions she was battling, her urge to snatch back her hand and run away colliding with her sense of duty and Sherlock’s clear instructions, the fact that this man was somewhat of a legend, obviously highly successful in his chosen trade and therefore dangerous conflicting with the way that he regarded her with a gentle interest and some concern about her wellbeing. In the end she managed to stammer, “Hello, Sir,” and he smiled and kissed her hand softly and said, “Flutter away, little bird. I am not here to harm you.”

She felt herself go bright red as she took back her hand, staring at his friendly face a moment before turning and almost running back below decks, not looking at either Sherlock or Hiccup before she went. If she expected there to be laughter at her reaction there was none, and when she returned with the food after allowing herself some time to calm down Sherlock merely regarded her with amusement while Hiccup met her eye in a clear attempt to check that she was alright. Ranald took his bowl with a simple word of thanks, watching her with interest. As she walked back to the railings to wait he turned to Sherlock. “I thought you had sworn to live out your days as a hermit.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “The girl is merely staying for the duration of Hiccup’s time with me.”

Ranald contemplated his former captain a moment, smiled, and then said, “I see.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing, and Ranald roared with laughter. From her place at the railings Bethany felt like the conversation that she was watching and listening to was almost completely different from the actual meaning being conveyed between the two men, and she blushed because she felt that somehow the joke was on her. When she looked across to Hiccup for some support he just shrugged, equally lost as to what had actually been said, and she felt a little better. Ranald, noticing her discomfort, winked at her. “Don’t worry, frightened bird. The joke is entirely on your master.”

\--oOo-- 

The three men sat and talked until it had long gone dark, Sherlock and Ranald catching up on what sounded like at least two years of history, Hiccup introducing Ranald to the concept of life with dragons on Berk, and Bethany provided drinks and oil lamps and waited on them, regretting that she had skipped dinner because she had been too nervous to eat as the night went on. Since she was standing by the side of Sherlock he did not see her, and it was Ranald that noticed her having to steady herself on the railings as she became more and more overcome with fatigue. He held out his hand. “Flutter over here a moment, little bird.”

She made her way to him nervously and a little bit unsteadily, and as soon as she was within his reach he took her hand and gently drew her onto his lap, where she sat and froze. He ran the back of his hand softly over her neck and she tried not to give in to the soothing sensation, looking over to Hiccup for some confirmation that she should be scared. Hiccup, however, was just keeping a wary eye on Ranald but did not seem overly concerned. Ranald said, “You’ve lost your manners, Sherlock. This little thing is scared and tired and hungry.”

Sherlock looked Bethany over and frowned. “She is meant to be able to feed herself.” He reached out his hand, taking Bethany off the younger pirate and putting her on his own lap instead, where he kissed her forehead. “Apologies, Bethany. Kindly go and feed yourself. You are discharged for the night.”

She went below decks in a bit of a daze, not knowing what to think, made herself eat some bread and dried fish and then retired to Sherlock’s bed, exhausted.

\--oOo-- 

Bethany woke up in the middle of the night crying, the vivid images of the violent nightmare still flashing before her eyes, and found herself still alone in Sherlock’s cabin. Shaking, she left the bed and made her way past Hiccup, who was fast asleep in his bunk, up the little steps and onto the deck in her nightshirt to find him. To her dismay Sherlock was still talking to Ranald, both sitting on the aft deck smoking two of Sherlock’s long pipes, and she made to turn back as Sherlock caught her eye and beckoned her over.

She went over reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with either of them, wishing she’d stayed in bed instead. Sherlock, however, simply pulled her onto the seat to the side of him and put an arm around her, not even breaking the conversation with Ranald, and she leant against him and cried quietly. After a while the younger man fell silent and looked at Bethany, contemplating the state of her. “Did you kill him?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, she stayed my hand. But he won’t breed.”

Ranald gave a grim laugh, then fell silent again, watching the two of them and smoking his pipe. Eventually he got up. “Race you tomorrow, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “Your stakes?”

Ranald contemplated him a moment. “A night with your scared little bird if I win, to take some of that fear off her.”

Sherlock shrugged as Bethany stiffened next to him. “Fine. And when you lose?”

Ranald looked pleased. “ _If_ I lose, Captain, I will dine you and your little crew royally on the Narwhal. We have just taken on some excellent provisions.”

Sherlock reached out and shook Ranald’s hand. “Done. I look forward to dinner.”

Ranald took his leave, bowing to Bethany as he went. She watched him scale the hull of his ship with practiced ease and disappear over the side, and then turned to Sherlock with a look of hurt on her face. He returned her gaze calmly. “He will lose, Bethany, and he knows it.”

Wishing she could share his calm confidence, she asked quietly, “What if he doesn’t, Sir?”

Sherlock sighed. “In the highly unlikely event that Master Ranald gets his behemoth ship up to speed quickly enough to win this race, you will find him the most considerate man you will ever share a night with, Bethany. His kindness is not an act. But it won’t happen.”


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we race for honour and glory and a night out.

The next day broke grey and breezy, with the threat of rain in the air and a drop in temperature that made Bethany shiver as she went around to the sheep pen to give them their early morning feed. After breakfast Ranald came sliding onto the deck of the Storm Petrel again to discuss the terms of the race, and Sherlock and him disappeared into the captain’s cabin to look at maps while Bethany mopped the deck and Hiccup sat on the pile of sailcloth and cleaned Toothless’ armour, the dragon looking on with interest and occasionally attempting to help him. The humorous semi-annoyed conversation between the two of them made Bethany smile, and it was funny to realise that she could understand Toothless’ grumbles and yowls perfectly well these days, the range of noises that the dragon produced being more than plenty to convey his thoughts. It gave her a welcome distraction from worrying about the outcome of the boat race.

Hiccup had been excited to learn that there would be a race between the two mismatched ships, but less than impressed when Bethany had told him what the stakes were. He’d had a good go at Sherlock for his callous treatment of her, and Sherlock had simply shrugged and said they had better make sure they win if it was of such a concern to him. Hiccup scowled at him. “Yes, of course it’s a concern to me that you’d hand her over to a complete stranger for a night, Sherlock. As it should be to you. Especially since she’s still recovering.”

Sherlock just shook his head dismissively. “Ranald is no stranger to me, Master Hiccup. You do not know him as I do.”

\--oOo-- 

Ranald and Sherlock emerged after some time, the rules of the race settled, and went to address Hiccup. “Since you are easily the most honourable person in the surrounding ten miles, Master Hiccup, and you happen to have access to aerial transport, we have agreed that you should oversee the fair execution of the race,” Sherlock said, putting a map down on the deck and beginning to explain the route they would be taking. Hiccup took no notice of the things he was trying to tell him, but just stared at him. “Sherlock, that would leave you with just Bethany to control the ship, and she is a complete novice.”

Sherlock smiled at him, looking pleased with himself. “And so the victory will be even sweeter.”

\--oOo-- 

The ships were separated in preparation of the race, and Sherlock got busy. “All hands, time to rig the ship,” he grinned, and went to expel Toothless from his pile of sailcloth. Both Hiccup and Bethany looked at him in confusion. “It’s fully rigged, Sherlock,” Hiccup said as he stroked his dragon, who had not taken kindly to being evicted from his favourite spot. Sherlock, who was drawing out sails from the pile, straightened up. “You’re only showing your ignorance, Master Hiccup. You’ve never seen her fully rigged. Did you really think that yard was merely a convenient lookout post?”

As Sherlock went about the business of raising the topsail and foresail, getting Hiccup to help him up high on the yard as Bethany sat at the tiller ensuring they caught as little wind as possible, Bethany began to realise that her job was going be much more complicated than she’d thought. Releasing and setting the two sails at the front was going to take time, and their turns would be slower for it. When Sherlock climbed out all the way onto the bowsprit to install a flying jib she began to really get worried. He came and stood by her as she wrestled the tiller, the ship much more powerful and hard to control with the additional sails, the topsail giving it an unpredictability she found very hard to deal with. She looked up to him, panicking a bit. “I don’t understand what she’s doing anymore, Sir. Or what I’ll be doing.”

He sat down and took the tiller off her, steering the ship slightly away from the wind until it calmed and only the square sail was taut, the other sails flapping aimlessly and the boom hanging uncertainly, occasionally swinging dangerously as it caught a gust of wind from either side. Sherlock looked in his element as he ducked the thing swinging over his head for the third time. “This should be fun.”

Bethany had slid down onto the deck of the ship, away from danger, and looked at him in dismay. Instead of answering her directly he pointed to the Narwhal, which was almost ready to go. The ship looked impressive fully rigged, and it was sailing towards the gap between two small uninhabited islands that marked their starting point at considerable speed, leaving the drifting Storm Petrol behind quickly. “Look, with the square rigging, she’s great with the wind behind her. She might even be quicker, but it will take them time to get their speed up after the tacks, and as soon as they sail anywhere away from the wind they will struggle to keep control of her. The Storm Petrel, on the other hand, might be a little unpredictable,” he ducked again as the boom swept past, “but we have manoeuvrability on our side. And we can sail much, much closer to the wind without going over. All you really have to worry about is the top sail. With a bit of clever rigging the jibs will look after themselves in this wind.”

Beside the ship Hiccup coasted on Toothless, checking the rigging once more on all sides before declaring them ready to go, landing on the deck one last time to wish them luck. Sherlock turned the ship into the wind then and it sprang forward, all sails suddenly catching the breeze and the Storm Petrel banked sharply, chasing down the Narwhal as Hiccup whooped, holding onto Toothless who shot out a wing to keep them stable. Bethany slid down the deck, flailing her arms around in an attempt to find something to hold onto and Sherlock grinned. “Time to grow some sea legs, girl.”

\--oOo-- 

With about five minutes’ worth of tuition on how to set the topsail Bethany was told it would have to do, as the race was to start at midday and the sun was now reaching its peak. Hiccup wished them good luck and told Sherlock not to cheat before he set off, and Sherlock chuckled and said to Bethany that that would spoil all the fun. Then he turned the Storm Petrel away from the wind, waiting for Hiccup’s signal while watching the other ship perform its own turn in readiness for the start, studying the way it moved and the actions of its crew. “They’re a well tuned lot,” he observed, “But then they always would be under Ranald.” He looked at Bethany. “No time for complacency.”

She had no chance to answer because at that moment Toothless fired three purple flashes across the sky, and Sherlock did not hesitate a moment to turn the ship back into the wind, chasing down the Narwhal as it set off almost as quickly as they did. The first leg of the race was to the Storm Petrel’s advantage as they went close to the wind at an angle from where they had come. They overtook the Narwhal easily, but as they did so Bethany saw that there were crew on every mast reefing the square sails, and soon the big ship turned into the wind a little and picked up speed, beginning to chase them down.

Sherlock grinned and told Bethany to hold on, and she clung onto the railing as he took the ship closer to the wind again until it felt to her like they were almost vertical and she began to get afraid they might broach or even capsize. She could hear the confused bleating of the sheep in the hold coming up from the hatch, safely put in a corner for the duration of the race but clearly unimpressed with their lot, and looked in concern at Sherlock who was grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly she laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing, deciding that if he was happy with the way the ship sailed then she should be, too.

Looking behind her she could see they had gained a little again, but the Narwhal was keeping its pace and was not trailing far behind them. Above their heads Toothless was keeping up easily, gliding in slow circles along with the two ships as Hiccup kept an eye on their progress.

They came to the topmost point of the course, which was marked by a small group of sharp rocks jutting out from the open sea, and Sherlock called to Bethany to ready about as they went past, the Narwhal now a little way behind them. Keeping an eye on the bigger ship Sherlock called the tack and turned, but they were dismayed to find that as they did so the Narwhal changed its course towards them, heading straight at the Storm Petrel on a clear collision course as they took time to gather momentum again.

There was only one thing to do and Sherlock pulled the tiller sharply towards himself and ducked, tacking away from the bigger ship again as it came to them head on, and Bethany could feel the wind as the Narwhal rushed past them with whoops and cheers coming from the crew above, leaving the Storm Petrel temporarily becalmed and drifting.

Sherlock shouted a loud curse at pirates in general and ginger ones in particular, and Bethany looked at him in shock because he so rarely lost his calm. Meeting his eye, however, she saw that there was a wicked glint in it and she realised that he was relishing the thrill of this, in his absolute element as he took on the challenge once more to beat his former first mate.

They tacked slowly and recovered their speed on their new course as the Narwhal performed its own turn, leaving the Storm Petrel ahead as the bigger ship had overshot in its attempt to disable them. Sherlock muttered something about _all brash and no brains_ as he steered away from the wind, letting out the main sail in order to allow the ship to run as Bethany arranged the top sail squarely. Everything on deck suddenly went calm and even the sheep became silent as the Storm Petrel cut its way quietly through the waters, and Sherlock told Bethany to take the tiller as he went to change the setting of the jib sails, letting them out so that they caught the most of the wind. Then he came back and sat next to her. “This is where we hope and pray that we have done enough. They have the advantage on a run, and there is nothing more we can do to gain speed other than throwing the sheep overboard.”

Behind them Bethany could see that the crew of the Narwhal was busy letting out all the reefs in their sails, and it was clear that the Storm Petrel would quickly lose the advantage it had gained as the bigger ship came into its own, rushing towards them at some speed. Sherlock told Bethany to ensure they stayed on the windward side of the ship, should it pass, as he went below decks, returning with a length of metal chain that had a grappling hook attached to it. Bethany looked at him in outrage but Sherlock just grinned. “They did try to ram us, Bethany.”

He waited in the prow until the Narwhal had almost passed them before throwing the hook, just as Bethany had nearly begun to believe that it was just a bluff. She had kept the Storm Petrel as close to the bigger ship as she dared, fearful to catch their rigging with the topmast yard, but Sherlock called at her from the stern to bring them in closer again. She carefully edged the ship closer but Sherlock gestured her further in, so she took a deep breath and took the Storm Petrel within a few yards of the hull of the Narwhal, shaking with trepidation lest she hit her and damaged Sherlock’s pride and joy. With an efficiency that could only come from years of experience Sherlock cast the chain, catching the grappling hook on a piece of rigging low down on the side of the ship and quickly fastening it to the prow of the Storm Petrel before it was pulled taut. Then he ran to Bethany, ducking and weaving across the deck, and took the tiller off her as the ship veered, steering it against the pull of the Narwhal as he sat back and laughed.

There was suddenly frantic activity on the ship above them. Ranald’s face appeared, cursing and swearing at Sherlock in good humour, but Sherlock just stretched his legs a little further and gave him an insolent grin, leaning against the tiller in perfect contentment. After realising that they could not reach the grappling hook from the deck of the ship Ranald sent out a crew member to descend along the hull. Finding not rope but chain on the hook he had no choice but to cut their own rigging, and it took time for the man to get through the thick rope with the knife he carried while Sherlock watched the goings on with great amusement.

The crewman managed to cut the ropes just as they came to the bottom third of the leg of the course, and Sherlock told Bethany to pull in the grappling hook as he tipped his hat to the crew on the Narwhal who jeered, taking the ship away to starboard and back into the wind as they fell back to round the little island that marked the last turn. They took it wide, falling quite some way behind the bigger ship, but Sherlock seemed confident that they could make up the distance on the last leg, which was an easy reach and ideally suited to the Storm Petrel’s capabilities. He got Bethany to adjust the topsail and the jibs which she did slowly and inexpertly, but Sherlock made no comment as he sat at the tiller looking pleased with their progress.

They began to catch up to the Narwhal again as it headed back towards their starting point which also marked the finish line, coming in slightly from the side at a speed that was considerably greater than that of the larger ship. Bethany stood in the prow, willing the Storm Petrel forward, as Sherlock cut down the distance between the two ships with every moment that passed. Just as they were about to overtake the larger ship it suddenly veered to starboard, cutting off the Storm Petrel’s route and requiring Sherlock to rapidly change their course to avoid crashing into the Narwhal as the crew on the bigger ship whooped and he cursed at them. It cost them in both speed and time as he had to put in an unplanned tack, and although they carried it out as efficiently as Bethany’s inexperience would allow, in the end the two ships crossed the finish line side by side with but a hair’s breadth of distance between them.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup is thoroughly unimpressed and Sherlock refuses to budge, and there is rather a lot of good food.

“Well,” Hiccup said when they had anchored both ships alongside each other in the lee of the island, and Ranald and Sherlock shared a jug of ale in the prow of the Storm Petrel, “I’m not sure whether to call that a draw or disqualify you both.”

Sherlock grinned. “In that case we will call it a draw, Master Hiccup. There’s no fun in disqualification.”

Ranald voiced the exact thoughts of Bethany, who had returned to waiting, worried about what the outcome might mean for her. “And what about our stakes, Captain?”

Looking across to Bethany, Sherlock said, “We will do both. You will dine us royally on your exorbitant ship, and the girl will stay the night.”

As Bethany blanched and Hiccup made to protest, Sherlock added calmly, looking back to Ranald, “And with your permission, I will remain also.”

If they thought Ranald was going to protest at what appeared to be a restriction to his freedom, they were mistaken. The younger man grinned, delighted. “Splendid. I will notify my crew.”

He got up to return to his own ship, and as he walked past Bethany he stopped and considered her kindly a moment. On her part, she looked back at him with undisguised fear. He smiled, stroking her cheek with the back of a finger softly, and said quietly, “I mean you no harm, little scared bird. You will be quite safe tonight.” Wondering how that could possibly be she did not answer him, but he saw the slight change in her face that betrayed the fact his words had indeed calmed her, and he smiled again, leant down and gently kissed her forehead before disappearing back up to the Narwhal.

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup made no secret of the fact that he thought very poorly of Sherlock’s decision, going as far as accusing him of engineering the result of the race. Sherlock shrugged. “I will not lower myself to comment on that, Master Hiccup. But I will admit that the outcome is the most interesting of all possibilities.”

His response was met with disdain from Hiccup. “ _Interesting_. Bethany is barely recovered from what Geir did to her and you think it’s _interesting_ to pass her over to a mate for a night? What is this, reliving past glories? How long will it take her to piece herself back together, you reckon?”

Sherlock bristled at this. “Master Hiccup, Bethany has a forfeit outstanding which I will call in tonight, and which I expect you to honour. For your information, I am fully aware of her condition and would not put her in a situation that would cause any further damage. Now kindly refrain from questioning things you know nothing about.”

The two men locked eyes a moment, and then Hiccup yielded with a deep sigh. “I hope to Thor you know what you’re doing, Sherlock.”

\--oOo-- 

It was with resignation that Bethany dressed herself that evening in the best clothes she had brought and made her way onto the deck. Both Sherlock and Hiccup had made an effort, although the contrast between Sherlock’s sharp formal dress, especially the stunning long coat, and Hiccup’s decidedly low key browns and creams made her smile. She had decided to let the evening bring what it may, remembering her resolution not to let fear rule her, and comforted by the knowledge that Sherlock would remain with her on the strange ship. The fact that he had picked tonight to call in her forfeit made the whole thing inescapable anyway, and she found herself feeling surprisingly calm because of it, although it didn’t escape her notice that he appeared to have got rather a lot of mileage out of a single bet.

The crew on the Narwhal lowered a rope ladder and Sherlock climbed up first, followed by Bethany, with Hiccup bringing up the rear. Sherlock helped her onboard as Hiccup followed and they finally had a chance to look at the large ship and its considerable crew. It was a world removed from the Storm Petrel, which was built for speed and efficiency, with little thought given to either comfort or decoration; her austere beauty lay in her sleek lines and turn of speed. The Narwhal, however, was built to impress. The whole ship, down to the rigging, spoke of wealth and status. The woodwork was elaborately carved, with even the railings showing subtle detailing, and the raised aft deck looked more like a fortress with its wooden buttresses. Everything was scrubbed to within an inch of its life and positively gleamed, and the painted decorations shone in blue and yellow, with gold leaf picking out the details.

Ranald was there to greet them, a young crew member next to him that Bethany recognised as the man who’d she seen cutting the ropes around the grappling hook. When she looked more closely she realised that it was in fact a woman, dressed in man’s breeches and tunic with her dark hair cropped very short, making her look very much like a young man. Ranald introduced her. “This is my first mate Hägar, Sherlock. He joined us a couple of years ago but has shown considerable skill, and was promoted last year when the position unfortunately became available. He will be joining us at table.”

Sherlock bowed with a polite, “Sir,” which Hägar returned with a nod, and Bethany looked confused. Both Sherlock and Ranald appeared to be oblivious to the fact that it was clearly a girl standing there. Sherlock took no notice but instead introduced Hiccup and then Bethany, whom Hägar regarded with some pity, looking at her collar. Bethany, on her part, decided to follow Sherlock’s lead and address Hägar as Sir, as did Hiccup, looking at the strange figure curiously.

Ranald turned to his first mate. “Please notify the cook we will be starting with drinks, Hägar, and then join us.”

As he turned to lead the way to the aft deck, Bethany turned to Sherlock and whispered, “That’s a girl, Sir.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. “Hägar is a man’s name, Bethany, and you will address him as such.” He looked across to Hiccup as he said it, who acknowledged the hint with a nod.

The crew of the Narwhal had gathered around to watch the new arrivals, and Bethany noticed that Hägar was certainly not the only confusing person on this ship. Amongst the men were a surprising number of women dressed in a combination of men’s breeches and women’s tunics, which Bethany thought was actually an eminently sensible way to dress on a ship, and there were one or two people she could not determine the gender of at all. By the side of the main mast stood a tall young man in a simple dress, his beard braided in an intricate pattern, watching them curiously. As they passed two girls in traditional dress Sherlock stopped and greeted them. “Vanna, Anya, still here?” He kissed their hands in turn and they both giggled. “Not going anywhere, Captain Sherlock,” the girl called Anya said. He smiled, gave them a little bow and carried on as the girls took each other’s hands.

Ranald had reached the door of his quarters and waited for them. He smiled at Hiccup and Bethany’s confused faces. “I see you have met my crew. As Sherlock will tell you I make it my business to welcome those who find themselves ostracised from their communities for simply being themselves. Please ask if you are not sure how to address anyone, and I would appreciate it if you could refrain from staring.”

\--oOo-- 

The meal they were served was unlike anything Bethany had ever eaten. There were beautiful meats, a stunning variety of cheeses, and vegetable dishes she simply didn’t recognise. Ranald explained that they had recently returned from southern Europe, travelling north via France and the low countries and making the most of the provisions available from those warmer climes. “The fresh produce doesn’t last, but it’s a treat while we have it,” he said, picking up a strange green vegetable that he named an asparagus and passing it to Bethany. She eyed it curiously and tasted it, finding it delicious.

The food was served by two of Ranald’s crew members, one a tall, thin young man with a quiet voice and soft eyes, the other a tiny olive skinned man who was no taller than Bethany’s waist. He spoke with an accent that Bethany didn’t recognise but he explained originated from Spain, and made light of his inability to reach the table, requesting they held their glasses for him to refill instead, handling the plates with an easy dexterity. Bethany felt strange being waited on, but Sherlock insisted that in this case it was her full right as part of his crew.

The conversation strayed to the running of the ship, where Hiccup was the one doing the questioning, interested in how Ranald recruited his crew and why some of his hands had found themselves outcasts. “Some are simply born in the wrong body, some of them love those whom they are forbidden to love, and in cases such as Antonio,” the little man bowed at the mention of his name, “they are simply too small to be acceptable. Things that I find personally offensive.” He drained his glass. “But they make a loyal and highly effective crew, and I would not have it any other way. And they all know how to raid a rich merchant’s ship with great fervour and enthusiasm, particularly those who have in the past been crossed by such people.”

Hägar kept mostly quiet during the meal, answering Sherlock’s occasional question but mainly listening to the discussion. His eyes kept wandering to Bethany’s collar until it made her feel uncomfortable, and after two glasses of the excellent wine she felt emboldened to say something. “You appear to pity me, Master Hägar,” she said, as the young man’s eyes wandered over to her neck again. Hägar met her eye as the table fell quiet. “Of all the people on this ship, Miss Bethany, you are the only one who is not here by choice. Yes, I do pity you.” He looked across to Sherlock as he said it.

Sherlock considered his response a moment. Then he said, “Bethany is almost the complete opposite of you, Master Hägar. She was fully accepted within her community, blissfully ignorant of issues such as you have encountered, and about to be married to a man who proved to be a rapist and a killer. I saved her, in a way, and her status is but a small inconvenience in comparison. Besides, she will tell you herself she is generally happy and well looked after.”

Hägar held his eye a while, then looked at Bethany as he said. “Beautiful words, Captain Sherlock. I wonder if you speak for your girl, though.”

Beside her, Sherlock said, “Permission to speak freely, Bethany.”

Feeling put on the spot a little, Bethany took a long sip of her wine to give her time to think. Then she looked at Hägar. “If it had not been for Master Sherlock I would be dead, Master Hägar. I have seen and learned things I would never have experienced had I stayed at home. The collar is irrelevant. I would not be anywhere else, Sir.”

Hägar nodded, accepting her answer, but he turned back to Sherlock. “Then take it off.”

Sherlock smiled. “Call me old-fashioned, but no. Besides, it looks pretty on her.” He gave Hägar a sly grin as he said it, inviting him to challenge him, but the man simply glowered at him, emanating disgust. Sherlock became serious again. “I apologise if it upsets your sensibilities, Master Hägar. We, too, live on opposite sides of the spectrum. However you have the advantage of youth, whereas I have already begun to disappear into the realm of legend.”

Hägar looked at him a moment, then smiled and turned to his captain. “I can see why you like him so much, Ranald. He’s clever, even if he’s a fossil.”

Sherlock laughed, taking no offence, and drained his wine. “It may not have occurred to you, Master Hägar, that the collar offers Bethany a certain level of protection. Because she has very little skill or strength when it comes to defending herself, but only a fool would think to interfere with my property. The last yokel that tried had his balls removed.”

\--oOo-- 

The meal finished with an array of sweets, something that neither Bethany nor Hiccup had encountered before. They took delight in sampling the little fried pastries filled with honey and almonds that Antonio served, proudly declaring that he had taught the cook himself, and marvelled at the small pies made with strawberries and a thick yellow honey custard. Bethany asked if she might speak to the cook for the recipe, and Ranald agreed that he would ensure it would be arranged before they went.

They retired for drinks onto the aft of the Narwhal, looking out over the setting sun from the heightened position of the deck, which was built to overlook the rest of the ship. The wind had died down and the summer sunset was glorious in yellows and oranges, fading to blood red and black as the sun slowly sank behind the horizon. Draining the last of his ale, Hiccup stood up and thanked Ranald for the excellent meal, excusing himself for having to see to Toothless. Then he turned to Bethany, who suddenly felt nervous about being left without him. He looked at her a moment with resigned concern, then bent over and kissed the top of her head, turning to Sherlock. “Look after her, Sherlock,” he said, stroking her hair as he went, and it took effort for Bethany not to simply get up and go with him.

\--oOo-- 

Hägar had watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, and now turned to Sherlock as Bethany wouldn’t meet his eye. Sherlock shrugged. “Stakes were raised, forfeits were called in, and Miss Bethany is with us tonight whether she chooses to or not. You may dislike it, Master Hägar, but that is the truth of it.”

Hägar frowned at Ranald, who simply smiled. “Hägar, you think very lowly of me if you believe I would hurt a small frightened bird like her. Tonight I am out to help her. You may join us if you wish.”

Hägar gave a curt laugh. “No thank you. I think she’ll have enough on her plate without having to deal with me as well. I’ll find my own amusement.” With that he got up and wished the three of them goodnight, his eyes resting on Bethany a moment too long before going down midships, leaving her blushing.

Sherlock chuckled and drew Bethany onto his lap, kissing her neck and softly speaking in her ear as Ranald watched. “Well, that was an interesting reaction, Bethany. I could almost believe Master Hägar had an effect on you there. Now that would be a thing to watch, as he is not to be trifled with, regardless of appearances.”

Bethany made a small noise in the back of her throat, wishing desperately for Sherlock to get out of her head. Her reaction to Hägar had caught her completely unawares, and she was confused enough without the need for him to stoke the fire. Sherlock chuckled again and placed a row of kisses along her shoulder, causing her breathing to deepen. Then he looked up at Ranald. “Your multifaceted crew is confusing my staff, Ranald. Maybe we should retire before it gets worse.”

Ranald had watched the exchange with amusement, and now shook his head. “You could have let that pass, Sherlock. You know my ship has that effect on people. The poor girl really does have enough on her plate already.” He got up and took Bethany’s hand, making her stand uncertainly. “Now fly into my room, little bird, and we will see if we can make you sing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, sorry, did I forget to write smut, dear reader? With no apologies whatsoever, I'm having far too much fun with this lot ;-).


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany gets many surprises and an insight.

Ranald’s cabin was enormous compared to Sherlock’s, spanning the entire width of the ship, and it was clear that no expense had been spared in the decking out of it. There was an oversized cabin bed to the port side, an ornate desk in the centre underneath the windows which were decorated with beautiful leaded glass, and a set of sumptuous chairs around a beautifully carved table on the starboard side, the wall covered in a ornately decorated set of bookshelves with glass doors. The whole room was hung with paintings, and accented by oil lamps that had already been lit when they arrived, the effect being one of sheer luxury. Sherlock looked around the room appreciatively. “I see trade was good for your unfortunate rich merchant, Ranald. However I fear your sense of pomp will grow with living in the lap of luxury.” In response Ranald grinned. “I like to be comfortable, Sherlock. Besides,” he said, bowing to Bethany whose hand he was still holding onto, “it allows me to host my guests in style.”

He let go of Bethany’s hand and she quickly moved back to Sherlock, who sat down on one of the heavily upholstered chairs, Bethany placing herself at his feet. Ranald brought them drinks, and smiled at Bethany. “You appear to have flown back to your master. Come and sit with me.”

When she didn’t respond immediately, Sherlock sighed, and said, “Bethany, do you trust me?” She looked up at him, a little confused, and said without much hesitation, “Yes, Sir, I do.”

He nodded. “Then would it help you to know that of all the people I have encountered in my long career, Master Ranald is the only one I would trust with my life?”

Bethany looked at him, and then at Ranald. Turning back to Sherlock, she said, “You’d trust Master Hiccup with your life, Sir.”

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. “Master Hiccup is kind, Bethany, but he would not hesitate to turn against me if he felt the righteous need to do so. He has a very fixed set of morals that he adheres to. Master Ranald here has seen me at my worst and would still give his dying breath defending me.”

Ranald coloured at the compliment but nodded, and Bethany thought it was a strange reaction. However she didn’t have much time to contemplate it as Sherlock continued, “You see, Master Ranald has the rare capacity to take anybody at their own merit and see the best in them. This is why his crew are so dedicated to him. Now please move.”

\--oOo-- 

It was clear that Sherlock’s final words were not a request but an order, and so she stood and carefully walked over to Ranald, who took her hand as she approached and gently pulled her down to sit her on his lap. “There, she has landed,” he said, placing a soft kiss on Bethany’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure what to think or feel anymore, and so she just sat and contemplated that overall, that was a nice sensation. To her surprise Ranald proceeded to plait her hair, his fingers occasionally brushing her skin in a matter-of-fact way, creating a long braid that he pinned to the top of her head with a leather and wood hair clasp that he took out of his pocket, exposing her neck. She looked at Sherlock, confused, but he just smiled and watched the proceedings.

Ranald ran his fingers over her neck in an absentminded way. “So, little bird,” he said, “Sherlock tells me that you are brave, and dedicated, and that you learn quickly and are good at the things you turn your hand to, and that you are kind to him even when you shouldn’t be.” She listened to him, wondering where he was going with this. “I’d wager that he has probably told you the same, in so many words.” He kissed her neck, making her close her eyes against her intentions as he ran his hand slowly down her spine to the low collar of her shirt. Then he stopped, running his hands over her shoulders lightly, occasionally pressing down gently in places where she was tense, and she blinked because that felt good. As she relaxed he increased the pressure, laughing a little at the effect he was having, digging his thumbs between her shoulder muscles as he held onto her to stop her sliding onto the floor, and then calmly doing the same on the other side. Then he kissed her neck again. “What he doesn’t tell you, little sparrow, is that he loves you. And that’s why he gives you to me, because I can see it, and I’m not afraid to tell you.”

It took a moment for Bethany to register what Ranald was saying, but then she looked at Sherlock in some shock. He was looking guarded but made no move to admit or deny what the younger man had said. Behind her, Ranald chuckled. “You see, he can never tell you that because those words do not sit well with him, but you can take it from me.”

While Bethany sat in stunned silence Ranald took the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head. She let him do it, taking her arms out of her sleeves without registering what she was doing, thinking very little about what was happening. She came back to the real world when she felt his hands on her back, realising that she was now half naked. However his touch was light and not in any way suggestive as he walked his fingers slowly either side of her spine, followed by firm pressure from his thumbs where he found her muscles knotted. She made a funny noise as he pressed his thumb firmly into a spot on her lower back, holding onto her waist with his other arm as he did so, and her vision went a little fuzzy as her spine relaxed and she forgot to be guarded.

Ranald got her to stand up then, turning her around and undoing her skirt with an “allow me.” Bethany let him do as he wished without thinking much about it, beyond worrying what he was going to do, because so far everything he had done to her body had made her feel wonderful. He turned her again, running two hands down her back and waist all the way from her neck to her bottom and she found herself relaxing to him, wondering what came next. Sitting comfortably his chair and looking perfectly at home, Sherlock was still watching them calmly, smiling slightly at Bethany’s face. Behind her, Ranald said, “Come and lie down on this bed a moment, little bird. I promise you nothing untoward will happen.”

She wondered why he even said it, because she had already left all her fear behind, and so she followed him and lay down flat on her stomach where he told her to without a thought. The bed was something else – no coarse furs drawn over a straw mattress for Captain Ranald, but quite the softest thing she had ever lain on, and she curiously prodded the linen sheet to find out what was underneath. He chuckled at her curiosity as he once more began an exploration of her back, revisiting her shoulders, moving his hands over her spine and hips as he massaged her deeply. “It’s feathers, little bird, I am sorry,” he said as she groaned under his ministrations, caring not when he moved further down onto her buttocks.

She was still wondering when Ranald was going to make his move, whimpering at the feeling of him massaging the soles of her feet with agonising deep strokes after he had finished with her buttocks and legs when he gently put her foot down and told her to sit up. “All done. How do you feel, little sparrow?”

Confused, Bethany scrambled up. “I... I feel amazing, Sir.”

He smiled broadly at her as he absentmindedly took her hand and massaged her fingertips, a feeling of great wellbeing spreading through her body as he did so. “Good. Then my work here is done.”

She looked at Sherlock, who was grinning, and back at Ranald. “Sir, I thought you were going to...”

Ranald smiled even wider. “I was going to make you feel better about things, birdie, and take some of your fear away. I believe I have achieved that.” He kissed her forehead and she stared at him, feeling rather stupid. “But how can I thank you, Sir?”

Ranald winked at her as he chuckled. “There’s two words you can use for that.”

“Oh,” Bethany said, feeling that her world suddenly wasn’t making a lot of sense anymore. “Thank you, Sir.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock got up and walked over to them, but instead of approaching Bethany, he took Ranald’s hand and made him stand up, looking him over a moment as the younger man watched him, his face focused on Sherlock’s. “You see, Bethany,” he said, “Whilst Master Ranald is firmly dedicated to the wellbeing of the downtrodden, he takes very little interest in the beauty of the female form.”

There could be no mistaking the burning look that Ranald gave Sherlock as the older man softly ran his finger over his face and throat, smiling at the reaction he was getting as a shudder ran through Ranald’s body. Sherlock turned to Bethany once more, smiling. “As for me, appearances are irrelevant, since I merely care for what is in the mind. And Master Ranald’s mind,” he said, stroking his friend’s face again as he looked back at him and the man closed his eyes, “is a rare thing of pure beauty.”

Bethany watched in awe and sudden understanding as Sherlock leant forward and kissed Ranald, who responded with a whimper as Sherlock took his face in one hand, running the other under his shirt. She sat on the bed, feeling like she was intruding but at the same time fascinated by the clear and passionate connection between these two as Ranald stepped back, taking off his shirt and kicking off his breeches, standing naked before Sherlock with his arousal clear to the world. Sherlock ran his hand over Ranald’s chest, grinning. “Keen, Ranald.”

Ranald closed his eyes again, and breathed, “Two years. Sherlock. Two frigging years.” Then he looked at Bethany, pointing at Sherlock. “He never visits. He just sits on that godsforsaken rock of his mouldering, when he could, just, occasionally,” he looked back at Sherlock, who was watching him with amusement, his face breaking into a grin as Ranald met his eye and ended on a plea, “find me.”

Sherlock stepped up close to Ranald again, stroking his skin, studying his friend who was clearly affected, barely able to keep his eyes open as his body sought to give in to the sensation. “You are not easy to find, Ranald,” he said, quietly. “I, however, am always available. You know where I am.”

He began to kiss Ranald’s neck as the younger man mumbled something about having forty mouths to feed, a comment that quickly became unintelligible as Sherlock brought his hands around Ranald’s back and ran his nails slowly down it, and Bethany suddenly realised that she had seen this image before, but in a different setting – on the previous occasion it had been Inge that stood there naked, mesmerised by Sherlock’s hold on her, and while the balance of power and experience was clearly different in this case it was still Sherlock holding all the strings, playing the same game, his black coat and hair providing the darkness against Ranald’s light skin and she once again thought she would like to capture this on paper.

After a while Sherlock stopped, Ranald by now looking dazed and breathing heavily, and looked across to Bethany. “Now, you may watch, or you may partake,” he said quietly, moving behind Ranald while running his hands over his naked body, eliciting shudders, “but you will not judge.”

Sherlock took his coat off and put it on the chair behind him, followed by his boots and breeches. From a pocket of his coat he dug up a small bottle with what looked to Bethany like oil, applying it to his hands as he moved once more behind Ranald. Bethany watched Ranald’s face with fascination, because Sherlock’s slightest touch could be read in his expressions, his anticipation palpable as he stood before her with closed eyes. He gasped as Sherlock penetrated him slowly, Sherlock’s teeth finding his shoulder as he did so, his long hands surrounding his hips, drawing him into himself in a clearly possessive gesture.

Bethany watched in awe and no small amount of arousal as the scene unfolded, unsure about her role. Ranald was within reach of her hand but she hesitated to touch him lest she break the moment, and so she sat silently on the edge of the bed watching the expressions on the men’s faces, Ranald’s rapt and soft as he submitted to Sherlock’s ministrations, Sherlock’s intense focus on his partner’s reactions to him a complete contrast. She was caught unawares when Ranald opened his eyes, returned her gaze and smiled softly, gently running his hand behind him onto Sherlock’s thigh, and quietly said, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock stopped and looked up, and Bethany found herself the subject of both men’s interest, the combined force of their scrutiny almost physical – Ranald’s keen, green-eyed gaze observing her with soft amusement, Sherlock’s piercing eyes all the colours of the sea. She swallowed as Ranald said, “Your little bird appears to want to take part, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at Bethany a moment longer, and then said, “So she does,” as he proceeded to kiss Ranald’s shoulders and neck, running his hands over the man’s chest and stomach as he did so, moving in and out of him slowly. Ranald made a small noise and closed his eyes involuntarily, and Sherlock smiled at him and looked back at Bethany. “Anything you are happy with, Bethany. I’m sure Master Ranald will appreciate it.”

Bethany was grateful not to have to make the first move when Ranald held out his hand, his eyes still closed, and she took it and stood up as he put her fingers to his chest in a clear invitation. She stroked his body a moment, entangling her fingers in his downy chest hair, wondering at the inevitable scars which were fewer than Sherlock’s by a long way but still enough to tell a bloody story. When she looked up she met Sherlock’s scrutinising eyes again, watching her every move. She blushed and closed her eyes, finding him too much to deal with, and made her way downwards instead, kneeling in front of Ranald as she kissed his body.

It was the most natural thing to take him into her mouth as she got there, and he let out a moan as he felt her lips on his shaft, encouraging her to take him deeper and she moved down, taking him in to her mouth as far as she could. As she moved her hands to his waist she felt Sherlock’s fingers over hers, and she let out a constrained whimper as he entangled their hands together and pushed her gently lower until they were both holding onto Ranald’s hips, Sherlock now very much in control of both Ranald and her.

He held her there as he increased his rhythm and she let the moment take her as Ranald moved with him, pushing into her mouth as she went down on him, feeling his excitement build with every stroke. Ranald put his hands on her hair, gently caressing her but not holding her down, and her arousal increased at the feeling of being included in this, wishing to make him feel as amazing as he had done to her in the full knowledge that he had acted without expecting anything in return.

When Ranald came close to his peak he gently pulled her hair, concerned maybe, but she hummed her consent as she made a point of taking him even deeper, and Ranald gasped again as Sherlock increased his thrusts at the same time. Caught between the two of them he didn’t last long, and he moaned and shuddered as he came, his fingers entangled in Bethany’s hair, pushing into her mouth. Bethany took what she could and swallowed, as behind Ranald Sherlock thrust deeply and reached his peak in perfect synchrony with his lover.

\--oOo-- 

Afterwards, after exchanging a passionate kiss with Sherlock that conveyed all the gratitude in the world, Ranald knelt down to Bethany’s level and studied her face a while, and she looked at him, wondering what he was searching for. Apparently he got his answer, because after a moment he smiled, kissed her forehead and said, “Thank you, little bird, that you would do that for me.” Then he picked her up and unceremoniously put her back on the edge of the bed, where she bounced a little and then sat with her legs dangling as he got her a drink. He turned to Sherlock. “She’s generous to a fault, Sherlock,” he said, to which Sherlock simply said, “I know,” and went off searching for washing facilities.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author indulges herself.

Ranald had followed Sherlock, and Bethany could hear the men talking in the little room to the side, their voices interspersed with the sounds of splashing water. Eventually they both emerged naked and still wet, Sherlock absentmindedly trying to get water out of his ear with a towel as he walked into the room, carrying his shirt over one arm. Although her arousal had died down a little as she sat and sipped her drink, the image he presented had Bethany’s breath catching. He looked at her as a little smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and then turned to Ranald, who was getting dressed. “Got any toys, Ranald?”

The younger man looked at Sherlock in confusion a moment, then turned to look at Bethany, and said, “Oh. I see.” He fastened his breeches and walked over to her as he said, “Bottom right drawer of the desk. There’s a couple there you’ll like, I think.” He sat down next to Bethany and gently took her chin as she turned towards him. “I’m afraid we left you all aflutter, little bird. That was rude.”

He stroked her cheek, gently running his hand down her throat and over her collar, and smiled at her confused reaction. “But Sir, you don’t...” she stammered, and his smile grew wider. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make you feel good,” he said, and he leant in to kiss her gently, running his fingers through her hair as he did so and pulling her to him. She whimpered, nothing making any sense anymore whatsoever, and decided there and then to just let it all go because he was clearly good at this, and her body was making decisions all of its own anyway. She returned his kiss with enthusiasm and after a moment he broke off and grinned at her. “So, how are you feeling?”

She just stared at him, wishing he hadn’t stopped, and said, “Fucking confused, Sir.”

Ranald roared with laughter. “Ah, welcome to the Narwhal,” he said, still chuckling. “Just imagine how you would feel if Hägar were here.” She could feel herself go bright red as she tried to drive the mental image from her mind, and Ranald giggled before kissing her again, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him back hard because he was pure joy, and she suddenly understood what Sherlock had meant when he had said his mind was a thing of beauty.

As he kissed her Ranald’s hands moved over her body, gently tracing his fingers over her breasts, rubbing her nipples lightly, and then softly pushing her backwards onto the bed. She lay back in the soft luxury that was his mattress, pulling her legs up as she went, aware that she was exposing herself quite blatantly as she did so but well past caring, willing him to explore further. What she was not at all prepared for was a second pair of hands joining Ranald’s, long fingers stroking the inside of her thighs as Sherlock’s amused voice said, “Playing with my property, Ranald?”

Ranald grinned at Bethany’s face as she broke off the kiss and cursed quietly, her eyes big, suddenly realising where this was going as he said, “Your property was in dire need, Sherlock.” He ran his hand over her chest again and she closed her eyes and shuddered, vaguely wondering how much more overwhelming things could possibly get. She didn’t have long to wait for an answer, as from the edge of the bed Sherlock said, “Indeed,” running his left hand down to her sex along the inside of her thighs. She moaned as he touched her wetness but found herself gasping in surprise when she felt him pushing not his fingers, but something smooth and cool and large against and slowly into her.  She bucked and arched her back, completely taken over by this new sensation, moaning and trying to find something to hold onto as she attempted to make sense of what he was doing.

Her searching hands found Ranald’s arms, but he took her wrists and put them over her head, gently pinning her down, kissing her and soothing her as he did so, stroking her face and chest with his other hand. Sherlock rested a hand on her hip, the pressure just enough to reassure, and she sighed then and closed her eyes again, yielding to their touch completely as her breathing deepened. When Sherlock slowly began to move the object inside her she could feel every last subtlety of his movements, the sensations like little fireworks in her body, amplified by Ranald’s continued kisses on her face and chest and nipples and she felt like she was floating, her mind not really part of the experience anymore, her body taking on a life of its own.

How long she stayed like that she didn’t know, her arousal building slowly and controlled entirely by Sherlock who allowed her to get close to her peak but never quite pushed her over as she sighed and moaned, immersed in a timeless world where she was made entirely of sensuous pleasure. Over time her need for release became almost unbearable, his mastery at keeping her just from orgasm sheer frustration, and she found herself pleading to him quietly. It took her a moment to recognise the third sensation that arrived, eventually, as the feeling of Sherlock’s mouth on her clit, but when she realised what he was doing with his tongue her orgasm overtook her like a tidal wave and both men had to hold her down to let her ride it out safely as she moaned and bucked out of control, thinking she might black out.

\--oOo-- 

Ranald held her as she came back down, and she nestled into him feeling liquid as water, wondering how she had ever been afraid of him. Sherlock showed her the thing he had used when she was a little more coherent, and she was surprised to see it was made for the purpose, a piece of smooth wood shaped like a phallus with a rounded horn tip, thin horn ridges set along its length at regular intervals. Ranald took it off Sherlock and poked Bethany on the nose with it, making her giggle. Then he gave it back to Sherlock, who put it away in the drawer. Before he shut it, he picked out a similar item, but this one made of glass. He held it up to Ranald. “Unusual.”

“I had it made by one of the girls on the island who’s handy with the forge,” Ranald said. “Take it if you want, I’m sure she’ll make me a new one.”

\--oOo-- 

They slept all together in the big cabin bed, Bethany sandwiched between the two men, and for the first time in nearly a week her sleep was dreamless and the nightmares stayed away. In the morning she awoke to the feeling of two pairs of hands stroking her body, and she lay a moment with her eyes closed, just enjoying the feeling until one of them pinched her nipple gently and she gasped, no longer able to pretend to be asleep. She opened her eyes to find Sherlock studying her, smiling slightly as she realised that he was wide awake and full of intent, closing her eyes again immediately because his focus was a lot to take in in her dozy state. Looking to the other side she met Ranald’s gaze, looking not dissimilar, and she closed her eyes again as inescapable arousal overtook her and she whimpered.

Without even thinking she rolled onto her back, taking her arms up and over her head, giving them full access to her body to do as they wish and Sherlock chuckled, running a hand over her lightly and making her shudder. To her surprise it was Ranald who climbed on top of her, kissing her body as he went, as Sherlock went and got his bottle of oil, moving behind Ranald when he returned. Bethany watched in aroused awe as Sherlock penetrated Ranald who then entered her, and it was Sherlock who set the pace, sweeping both Ranald and Bethany away in equal measure, building up slowly and sometimes stopping altogether until both Bethany and Ranald were quietly gasping for release, their arousal drawn out until it became almost painful. It was Bethany who tipped over the edge first and Ranald leant in and kissed her as she came, her bucking making him reach his own peak, and finally Sherlock’s strong thrusts as he climaxed with them, drawing out their orgasms until they both lay gasping and spent and Sherlock rolled off Ranald, giggling at the state of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lazy Sunday morning sex. Honestly, there's nothing better.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup is forced to re-evaluate his world view.

 Breakfast was an elaborate affair with pastries and sweet breads, nothing like their normal fare of coarse bread, dried meats and pickled fish. Hägar joined them, and as he sat down he looked at Bethany, holding her eye. “I heard you last night,” he said, clearly watching for her reaction, “Maybe I should have joined in after all.”

Bethany went bright red and looked away, not sure what to say or even where to look. The table went quiet, and Sherlock said, “That will do, Master Hägar, the point had already been scored last night.” When Hägar shrugged, Sherlock sighed and sat back, fixing the young man’s eyes. “I did not think it was custom on this ship to embarrass guests, regardless of their status, Master Hägar. You of all people should know better than to pick on the powerless.”

Hägar looked at Ranald, who said nothing, and back at Sherlock, holding his eye a moment before conceding. “Apologies, I did not mean to cause offense.” Sherlock, however, wasn’t satisfied at all. “It’s not me you need to apologise to, Hägar.”

With a sigh, Hägar turned to Bethany. “Apologies, Bethany.” Bethany looked at him and his reluctant apology and smiled, and said, “Thank you. Sir.” Unable to stop herself, she added, “I’m sure you would have found last night instructive.”

For a moment no one said anything, and then Ranald whooped with laughter, as next to Bethany Sherlock tried to suppress a grin, failing badly. Hägar coloured, staring at Bethany for a second, and then smiled himself, shaking his head. “I probably deserved that.”

\--oOo--  

When they finally returned to the Storm Petrel it was late morning, and Hiccup was looking more than agitated. Sherlock paid him no heed as he went below decks, but Bethany suddenly felt guilty about leaving him in suspense for such a long time. Hiccup, however, seemed to just be very pleased that she was in one piece, and a little surprised at how happy she looked. “I was worried about you, Bethany. I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, looking at her for signs that she wasn’t. Bethany smiled at him, really not sure what to say. “I am fine, thank you, Sir.”

\--oOo-- 

There wasn’t much to do in order to ready the ship, and before midday Sherlock declared that they were ready to go. Ranald came down, trying to persuade Sherlock to take one more meal on the Narwhal, but Sherlock said they would all get fat and lazy with the amount of food Ranald was providing them. “I prefer my crew lean, Ranald, as you well know. We will be off in a moment.”

Ranald shook his head and told Sherlock that since he was retired it really shouldn’t matter, but when it became clear that Sherlock was not going to change his mind he turned to Hiccup and Bethany, who had been watching the exchange. He bowed to Hiccup, wishing him farewell and making a promise to visit Berk before the year was out. Then he took Bethany’s hand and simply drew her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head. “Take care, little sparrow. Don’t be afraid to fly.” She hugged him back, saying thank you, and goodbye, and wishing she could see him again. He peeled her arms off him after a while, and kissed her forehead, smiling at her. “Goodbye, Bethany.”

She beamed at him for the simple fact he’d actually used her name, and he winked, gave her a little bow and turned to Sherlock. The men stood facing each other a moment, and then Ranald said, “Find me, Sherlock.” Sherlock shook his head, quite serious. “Visit me, Ranald. But not late August.”

Ranald suddenly looked at Sherlock gravely, and Bethany wondered what this was about. Quietly, he asked, “Still?” Sherlock looked out over the sea a moment, and then answered, “Always.” The younger man’s face was full of concern a moment, but his voice was light when he said, “Well, maybe I will visit.” He went to embrace Sherlock, but instead of returning the embrace Sherlock took his face in his long hands and kissed him.

A chorus of cheers broke out from the railings of the Narwhal, where many of the crew had gathered to see off their visitors, as Ranald returned the kiss with a conviction that left no doubt about his feelings. Beside Bethany, Hiccup’s jaw dropped, and his face slowly went a vivid shade of red as the kiss lingered well beyond the realms of anything casual, Ranald’s hands under Sherlock’s coat leaving no question about the intimacy between these two. When they eventually broke off Ranald was a little breathless and Sherlock was watching him with an intensity that left little to the imagination. Ranald broke into a grin as he shook his head at his friend and lover, and with a final touch of his fingers to Sherlock’s face said, “Goodbye Sherlock.”

He climbed back onto the larger ship as Sherlock undid the grappling hooks from the railings, casting them back up to the Narwhal’s crew as he went and telling Bethany to raise the jib. Catching Hiccup’s eye as he walked past he grinned, shaking his head at the stunned expression that had not left Hiccup’s face. As he went to raise the main sail, he said, “You see, Master Hiccup, Bethany was never in any danger last night. Even if we had lost the race she would have been quite safe.”

Hiccup stared at him, still not quite recovered. “Ehm, yes. Obviously. I see.”

Sherlock chuckled at his utter confusion. “Don’t worry, Master Hiccup, if I had wished to get personal with you I would have made my intentions clear months ago.”

The look on Hiccup’s face was a picture as Sherlock went to the rudder, grinning to himself. Hiccup appeared rooted on the spot, but was shaken back into action as the ships separated, the strip of sea between them rapidly expanding as the Storm Petrel’s sails caught the wind and it sprang forward, away from the larger ship, and he stood with Bethany as they waved to the crew of the Narwhal, looking thoughtful.  

\--oOo-- 

Flying slowly above the clouds that evening in the calm summer air, Bethany holding onto him tightly, Hiccup suddenly turned around. “Bethany, can I ask you something?”

She nodded, and said, “Of course, Sir.”

He considered his words a moment, clearly struggling. “I, Ehm, I’m lost, Bethany. What happened on the ship this morning, that girl Hägar who wasn’t a girl, some of the crew on the Narwhal, Sherlock...  I feel like everyone got the message somehow and I didn’t. I don’t know anything about all this. I’ve never even had to think about any of it. I have no idea how I feel, even. I, ehm... I’d appreciate any help.”

She hugged him a little tighter, thinking of her answer as she felt a surge of sympathy for him. His structured world had just turned upside down, and in some ways he must feel the same as she had done many times in the last few months. In the end, she said, “It’s just love, Sir. I think we grow up being told there’s certain rules people should stick to, and it just doesn’t seem to work that way. And I think Master Sherlock and Captain Ranald and the crew of that ship are just free of thinking like that. I don’t think there’s a great mystery, Master Hiccup.”

He didn’t respond for a long time, looking across the clouds deep in thought. When he turned back to her he was still looking very thoughtful. “Could you tell me what actually happened last night?”

\--oOo-- 

Bethany had been unable to answer Hiccup’s question, saying she wasn’t sure she had the permission to share. When they got back to the Storm Petrel she went and spoke to Sherlock at the tiller, a little awkwardly, while Hiccup saw to Toothless. Sherlock considered her question calmly, and when Hiccup walked over to them he said, “Have an early night, Bethany. I will answer Master Hiccup’s questions. It is an issue he will likely encounter more than once as a chief.”

Lying in her own bunk for the first time in days, suddenly finding the straw mattress hard and lumpy, she listened to the sound of Sherlock and Hiccup’s voices drifting down, the backward and forward of their discussion soothing. While she couldn’t make out their words her admiration for Hiccup for his bravery in just diving in in his search for understanding was only matched by her love for Sherlock’s calm commitment to teaching him, and she fell asleep listening to them, feeling safe.

She was woken by Sherlock stroking her face some hours later. When she looked up sleepily, he said, “Wrong bed,” and she followed him dozily to his cabin, where she was asleep again before he had even joined her.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup helps Bethany since Sherlock refuses to. Kind of.

They reached Sherlock’s island on the second day after leaving the Narwhal, and it was strange to be back on dry land, as if the last few weeks had been a dream. After the considerable job of unloading the Storm Petrel and taking its cargo back up to the house, and the chaos of chasing the animals that they had released into the woods back to their pens, the house quickly fell back into a routine. Bethany cared for the house and its inhabitants, making the most of the bountiful crops that now started to arrive from the vegetable beds. Hiccup and Sherlock built a new fence around a meadow on the eastern side of the island for the sheep, and after that Sherlock spent his time reading or playing his violin as Hiccup redoubled his studies, throwing himself at the books that Sherlock provided in his drive to understand, and he picked tomes from faraway lands and cultures that he had never knew existed, studying the colourful plates and maps with fervour.

Bethany would find him staring out at sea sometimes, high up on the roof with Toothless, deep in thought, and when he came down he would have questions for Sherlock, who would sit and answer them at length, pulling out more books for Hiccup to study or to illustrate his points. She would join them sometimes if she could, and from the way Sherlock spoke it was clear that his knowledge was not merely learned from his books, but that he had travelled to these shores and experienced their cultures first hand and that this library had been built up by himself over many years and many miles of travel, and that he knew it intimately.

Bethany had taken to sleeping in her own bed again and Sherlock had requested that she didn’t visit him at night, unless she suffered nightmares. On the few occasions that she did he held her and soothed the horrors away, but other than the occasional kiss on her forehead he showed no interest in taking things further. While she wondered if there was something she had done wrong, he treated her as courteously as always, and in the end she decided that it might not be anything to do with her at all but that he was possibly missing Ranald. That it was causing her no end of frustration she kept to herself, although she was convinced he must be able to see it easily, as it was becoming harder to hide as time went on.

\--oOo-- 

One evening, after a day of heavy rain that had drenched the courtyard and made little rivulets appear in the dusty soil, Hiccup and Sherlock had retired to the study to keep warm by the open fire that Bethany had lit for the first time that season. As Bethany brought drinks Sherlock took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. Taken unawares, she gave a little exclamation of surprise and Hiccup looked up from his book as Sherlock smiled, first at Bethany, and then at Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, we have neglected your practical skills.”

Hiccup gave him a wary stare as Sherlock took Bethany’s shirt and drew it over her head before she had a chance to think about what was happening. The sudden touch on of his hands on her skin was electrifying after all this time, and she found herself losing focus very quickly as he stroked her back, putting a row of kisses along her shoulder as she sat facing Hiccup, who had a guarded grin on his face. “Ehm, Sherlock,” he said, “Thanks, but I think we covered that.”

Sherlock looked at him as he ran a hand softly along the underside of Bethany’s breast, brushing her nipple as he came past. She managed to suppress a whimper but could not stop herself from closing her eyes. “That is a preposterous thing to say, Master Hiccup,” he said, “Are you trying to tell me you never read the same book twice? And just how often do you practice those turns on your dragon to make sure they are just right?” He kissed Bethany’s back, absentmindedly running a thumb over her nipple as she let out a little moan, struggling to keep her body in control after the long days of abstinence. She could hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice as he said, “This is no different.”

Hiccup looked less than convinced, but Sherlock simply continued, “Now, I have not touched the girl for over two weeks, and she is getting just a little desperate.” He demonstrated quite how desperate by running two hands gently over Bethany’s breasts, and she could not suppress a definite moan. Sherlock chuckled. “Unfortunately for her, I have no intention to allow her release. That is something only you can offer her, Master Hiccup.”

Bethany cursed quietly as she looked at Sherlock, suddenly realising how long this had been in the planning. He returned her stunned look with a grin and kissed her slowly and deliberately, setting off fireworks in her mind and in her underbelly. She was breathless when he broke off the kiss and he said, “I’m sure you can ask Master Hiccup nicely, Bethany.”

Bethany turned to Hiccup, who was grinning in amused disbelief. “That’s mean, Sherlock,” he said, and Sherlock just shrugged. “Pirate, remember. I’m meant to be mean.” He kissed Bethany’s back again, making her shudder. When she did not immediately address Hiccup he made her stand and took down her skirt, and she stood naked in the study looking at Hiccup’s grinning face wondering how she’d got into this situation. Sherlock turned her around and began to cover her body in kisses, making sure to spend time on her breasts and her nipples, running his hands down over her waist until she was breathing heavily and struggling to think straight. Then he turned her back towards Hiccup. “Anything to say, Bethany?”

She swore internally and looked at Hiccup, who was looking back at her with an expectant grin. The idea that he actually seemed happy to play this game only made her arousal worse, and she fleetingly wondered just how much of Sherlock was rubbing off on him. Then she closed her eyes and just whispered, “Please, Sir.”

She heard him get out of his chair but daren’t look, keeping her eyes closed until she could feel him stand in front of her. She nearly jumped when she felt his fingers on her stomach, just gently stroking her skin, and she opened her eyes to find him smiling at her. “So, what _is_ it like to be a pawn, Bethany?” he asked quietly, and she whimpered and answered, “Today it’s fucking frustrating, Sir.” When his smile only broadened, she added in a voice that sounded desperate even to her, “Please.”

He kissed her then, a long, lingering kiss that had her melting to him, and she vaguely thought that if he was faking this then he was shockingly good at it. As she went to hold onto him she felt Sherlock’s hands on her arms, deftly catching her movement and pinning her hands to her lower back instead. It left her immobilised, which only added to her arousal, and she moaned into Hiccup’s kiss as he began to explore her body with his hands.

It was decidedly different from the first time he had done this to her; Bethany considered vaguely that he must have thought this over, because instead of moving tentatively he touched her with certainty and purpose, his fingertips like little explosions on her skin, so that when he broke off the kiss she was almost gasping, staring at him in surprise. “I’ve had plenty of time to think, Bethany,” he said, grinning at her, clearly enjoying her reaction, then looking down as he took her breast in one hand, running his thumb over the nipple. She shuddered, and he bent down and took her nipple is his mouth, running his tongue around it, and she moaned and thought that at this rate she was not going to need much more to push her over the edge, all the frustration of the last two weeks rapidly coming to a head. Then, behind her, Sherlock said quietly, “Stop.”

Hiccup looked up, wondering what he was getting at, but Sherlock just said, “Put her down on the rug, Master Hiccup, you’ll have better access,” as he let go of Bethany’s wrists.

Hiccup thought about it a moment, looking at Bethany as if she presented an interesting puzzle. Then he smiled and said, “Yeah, I can work with that,” took her hand and led her to the hearth rug. She followed him, scolding herself a little for being so easily manipulated, wondering if there was anything Sherlock couldn’t get her to do, but the thoughts were chased from her mind as Hiccup went down on one knee on the thick fur in front of the hearth, tugging her hand and getting her to kneel in front of him. He smiled at the look of anticipation on her face for a moment, and then leant in and kissed her again, pushing her gently backwards as he held onto her until she was lying on the rug staring up at his grinning face. “Well, that worked,” he said, looking pleased with himself, and she felt like taking his face and kissing him until he succumbed and took her, Sherlock’s plans be damned.

She didn’t even have time to finish the thought when she felt Sherlock’s hands on her arms again, not having noticed that he had followed them and sat behind her, and she looked up backwards into his calm face as he gently pulled her arms over her head, holding her down by the wrists, and said, “This isn’t about what you can do to Master Hiccup, Bethany, it’s about what he can do to you. Remember he does not wish to get involved, and you do not wish to cause him dishonour.”

She bucked in frustrated defiance but Sherlock just dug his nails into the inside of her wrists a little, and she gasped at the clear, sharp warning and calmed as he rolled his eyes. “Two weeks might have been excessive.”

Hiccup laughed, stroking Bethany’s stomach, and whether he intended it to be or not it was soothing and she relaxed to his touch, wondering what he would do. As he moved his touches down to the inside of her thighs she opened her legs, willing him to go further and he sat for a moment, studying what was in front of him, before putting his hands on her hips and kissing her sex.

Bethany moaned, the touch answering her burning anticipation, and lifted her hips to meet him, but he withdrew instead and laughed again at her obvious desperation. Bethany cursed and looked at him, but found Hiccup meeting Sherlock's eyes instead. “So how long could you draw someone out if they’re like this then, Sherlock?” he asked, catching Bethany’s gaze with a mischievous grin as he looked back to her body, and she closed her eyes and let out a stream of small curses when Sherlock answered, clearly amused, “It depends. An evening, if you’re careful. With practice indefinitely, but they will try and kill you at some point, unless you tie them down.” Hiccup giggled at the mental image, returning his attentions to Bethany.

He began to touch her again, running his fingers over her with a feather-light touch, and finding her reactions only amplified as her body searched for a firmer contact. Running his hands back down to her hips he held her gently as he kissed her clit with the lightest of touches, and she tried to writhe and get closer to him, but he held her more firmly as at the same time Sherlock dug his nails into her wrists again, sharper this time, saying quietly, “Disrespectful, Bethany. That will do.”

The sharp pain and Sherlock’s subtle reminder of her status brought her situation in focus and she whimpered and yielded, her body suddenly relaxing and her breathing deepening as she gave herself over to the experience, accepting whatever Hiccup chose to do to her. Hiccup, however, looked back at Sherlock. “How did you do that?”

Sherlock chuckled. “A little bit of pain and the power of conviction. Useful when it comes to slaves, but probably best not used on Miss Astrid unless she is susceptible to that kind of thing.”

Hiccup blinked, and said, “Oh. Ehm... I wouldn’t know. I, eh, I’m not sure I’d survive trying to find out.” He ran his hand lightly over Bethany’s body again, finding now that it merely deepened her breathing, and added, “Fascinating, though.”

Bethany, meanwhile, was in a world of her own, floating in a cloud of pure arousal and she just moaned quietly when Hiccup began to kiss her stomach, butterfly kisses that could barely be felt but still sent little shockwaves through her, making his way achingly slowly down her body again. She could feel every slightest touch down to his breath on her skin, her whole body sensitised, and he lightened his touch as he went until he was nearly not touching her at all. When he finally made it down to her sex she was incoherent, and when he blew soft air over her clit she moaned, surprised to be close to her peak when he had barely touched her. He chuckled quietly, and then softly placed the lightest of kisses on her clit. She came, shuddering and moaning, to the feeling of him blowing on her softly, her bucks finding nothing but thin air as he held her down, feeling as if she was dissolving into nothingness herself.

When she was spent Sherlock let go of Bethany’s arms and said, “Very good, Master Hiccup, I will admit to being impressed.”

Hiccup smiled, absentmindedly stroking Bethany’s stomach. “I’ve tamed a lot of dragons, Sherlock. You get good at reading them. This isn’t much different.”

Bethany lay on the rug staring at the ceiling, and was surprised when Sherlock asked Hiccup to move over. “If you allow me, I will demonstrate a small trick. Because she thinks she is spent, and you may think she is spent, but I guarantee you that is not the case.”

To their surprise he dropped his breeches once he got between Bethany's legs. Grinning at Hiccup’s face, he said, “I’d encourage you to do this yourself, but clearly that would compromise your honour. I, on the other hand, have none.” Then he focused on Bethany, moving over her as Hiccup sat to the side of them watching, and she closed her eyes at Sherlock’s knowing smile and cursed as he entered her, the feeling of him solidly inside and on her after Hiccup’s nearly non-existent touches a physical relief, and as he moved she could feel her own waves building again and he rode her rekindled orgasm until she was gasping and shouting and holding onto him for dear life and he was struggling to control his giggles, with Hiccup barely able to hide his own arousal as he watched.

Sherlock fetched them all drinks afterwards, since Bethany was quite unable to think coherently or indeed walk and Hiccup looked like he needed one. As he passed Hiccup his glass, he said, “Full marks for self control, Master Hiccup.” Hiccup gave a short laugh. “You’re not making it easy, Sherlock.” As Sherlock sat down and pulled Bethany on his lap, where she nestled into him, he smiled. “Who wants easy. Easy is boring.”


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things turn.

July drifted into early August and as the days began to shorten there was no time to stop and think for Bethany. The crops were all coming in, and she was run off her feet with both the harvest and the preservation and storage of the produce for winter. The men harvested the barley field and Hiccup helped her where he could, but the brunt of the work fell to her, and she sank into bed every night exhausted. Sherlock let her be, but it merely meant that on the occasions that he suddenly decided that Hiccup needed more practice or tuition she was so starved of touch that the slightest contact sent her flying. Hiccup, on the other hand, proved to be a quick learner, and his creativity increased apace with his confidence until it got to a point where Bethany became unable to enter a room where they were both present in the evening without blushing furiously, something that Sherlock found highly amusing.

On an evening that had seen her draped over the dining room table after dinner as Sherlock demonstrated the advantages that could be gained from using a raised surface and she was once more left as an incoherent – if satisfied – mess, Hiccup laughed at the state of her and said, “That’s it, Sherlock, I’m done with this. Poor Bethany isn’t going to be able to cope with this much longer and the quality of the food is beginning to suffer.”

Sherlock looked at him a moment to see if he was serious, and then said, “Very well. I hope you have found it instructive.”

Hiccup just giggled and said, “ _Instructive,_ yeah. I’m sure Astrid will appreciate it. I still think she’s going to kill me though.”

Sherlock shook his head as he gently peeled Bethany off the table and saw if she would stand. “There is no need for her to know, and you can keep as much up your sleeve as you see fit over time. But I think she might be pleasantly surprised to find you know what you’re doing.”

\--oOo-- 

Just before the third week of August the weather suddenly turned, as a driving rain was brought in on harsh winds from the west. They brought in the animals, closed the shutters on the house and hid inside as much as they could. There were plenty of provisions to survive on and Bethany was still able to spurt to the vegetable beds in Hiccup’s oilskins to harvest the carrots and onions. They kept the fire going in the study, and Bethany spent time practising her writing and drawing while Hiccup read and carved wooden figures. It wasn’t hardship, and Bethany relished the chance to rest after the very busy few weeks that she had just had.

Sherlock, however, appeared affected by the change in the weather and he grew restless and uncommunicative, spending hours on his violin and barely touching his food at mealtimes. After three days he stood up in the middle of dinner and addressed Hiccup. “Master Hiccup, I regret that I need to ask you to leave the island for a week on Friday. It is for purely personal reasons, but I need to be alone.”

Hiccup looked at him, concerned at Sherlock’s change of mood. “Can I ask why? It seems a bit daft, Sherlock. I’m due to go back to Berk in about a month anyway.”

Sherlock just shook his head, and said, “No, you may not ask why,” as he walked out of the room, leaving Bethany and Hiccup eyeing each other with concern.

\--oOo-- 

At breakfast the next morning Hiccup tried to pick up the conversation with Sherlock again. “Listen, Sherlock, if you need to be alone, where’s Bethany going to go? Shall I take her with me?”

“The girl will stay here,” Sherlock said dismissively, “She will keep the house running and the harvest going. I’m sure she can stay out of my way.”

It was clear Hiccup didn’t like it at all, but Sherlock wouldn’t budge on the issue regardless of how often Hiccup tried to change his mind. Eventually Sherlock called a stop to the discussions. “The matter is closed, Master Hiccup, and I do not wish to discuss it further. You leave tomorrow and the girl stays here.”

\--oOo-- 

It was with a heavy heart that Hiccup hugged Bethany goodbye the next morning. Both of them could feel that things were not right, and he was concerned about leaving her behind on her own with Sherlock. “I know this sounds strange, Bethany, but please can you stay away from Sherlock this week? He’s in a odd mood, and I don’t trust it. Promise me, please,” he said, eyes full of worry. Bethany nodded. “I’ll try, Sir. As much as I can.”

He hugged her again and then climbed onto Toothless. Even the dragon looked worried, although the hammering rain did not help his mood, and he clearly would have preferred to have stayed in his warm stable. With a final, “Look after yourself, Bethany,” Hiccup turned the dragon and they took off in a few easy leaps, disappearing in seconds into the heavy rain. Bethany watched until she couldn’t see them anymore and then went back inside, dripping wet and shivering.

\--oOo-- 

She kept herself to herself that day, hoping the rain might let up enough for her to return to her outside duties. Sherlock was in the study but did not speak to her at all even when she brought him food and drink which he left untouched, immersed as he was in some ancient-looking tome. In the evening she stayed in the kitchen, picking at the dinner that Sherlock had refused as she listened to the rain hammer down on the roof, wondering what was going on. She swept the kitchen deep in thought as she tidied up for the night, looking at the floor as she went, and ended up walking straight into Sherlock who had appeared in her kitchen silently. She looked up at his grave face and started an elaborate apology, but he just raised his hand and she fell silent.

“I’m saying this once, Bethany. I am going into my room and I will not come out in the next six days. You will not enter at any cost, regardless of what you hear or think you hear. Leave food and drink outside my door, care for the animals and the crops, feed yourself, stay out of the study and forget I exist for a week.”

She looked at him with big eyes, unsure what to think of his request, and stammered a “Yes, Sir.” Sherlock nodded and then turned and walked off without a word, closing the door to his room behind him, leaving Bethany wondering what on Earth to do with herself.

\--oOo-- 

For two days she walked around the empty house like a lost ghost, trying to keep busy with the things that needed doing as the rain kept coming down, finding it hard to focus on her tasks and feeling, in all, pointless and worried. The food she left outside of Sherlock’s room remained untouched and although sometimes the drink was taken she never saw or heard him open the door. After his warning she was reluctant to try and catch him out, and so she spent her time with the animals or in the kitchen, pickling the last of the summer vegetables and trying to keep her mind off worrying about Sherlock.

As she went to her bedroom that evening she briefly stopped outside his room, and to her horror she could hear a sound that she could only describe as agonizing, a long, drawn-out expression of pain that cut her to the core. She hesitated only a second before pushing open the door, Sherlock’s warning and her promise to Hiccup thrown into the wind without a thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I haven't posted because I was in a tent in the woods. It was lovely but let's get back to these three without delay...


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM.
> 
> In which Bethany does a brave thing that she may come to regret.

The scene that met her eyes had her rooted on the spot in horror. The room was filled with smoke, the acrid smell of which nearly made her choke, and by the light of the few candles that were lit it was hard to see through to the other side. Sherlock was lying in his bed shirtless, propped up on some bolsters, looking gaunt and drawn with eyes that were raw and red, a thin blade in his hand. There were gashes on his arm where she could see it, and there appeared to be a lot of blood. She looked at him, trembling, and he met her eye calmly. His voice was cold and emotionless when he spoke. “I told you to stay out.”

Terrified, Bethany forced herself to walk over to him, determined to see him, to confront the horror. Seen close up the scene was worse and she could see that he had done the damage himself, quite purposefully, with the knife that he held in his hand. She looked at him with tears in her eyes as she brought her hands to her mouth and said, “You are hurt, Sir.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, his expression stone cold. “Clearly. Now get out.”

She shook her head, and just said quietly, “No, Sir,” blinking back tears. She went to touch his arm, but he grabbed her wrist in a quick flash and flung her arm sideways as he sat up facing her, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his face full of rage. “I have told you before, _child_ , when I tell you to stay clear it is for your own safety. Get out.”

She was crying now, hugging her arm where he had grabbed her, unable to leave him in this state. “No Sir, you need help.”

Sherlock closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again the rage was gone, replaced by an icy calm. “No, Bethany,” he said, “What I need at this moment in time is pain and suffering, and if I cannot inflict them upon myself I will inflict them on somebody else. Now get out before you get hurt.”

She shook her head again although she was shaking, unable to stop the tears, and asked the question that was foremost in her mind. “ _Why_ , Sir?”

He rolled his eyes again. “The _why_ is of no concern of yours.”

She looked at his arm, noting that some cuts were more recent than others and realised that he must have been systematically harming himself since he had closed the door behind him two days ago. It was clear to her that whatever it was that made him feel the need to do this to himself was a deep, overwhelming agony, and her only compulsion was to, in some small way, make this better. “I wish to help, Sir,” she said quietly, wishing he would let her touch him.

Sherlock sighed and looked at her, studying her face in a detached way. “I have called you brave and stupid before, Bethany, but you appear to have gone entirely towards stupid. If you stay I will hurt you.”

She closed her eyes a moment, trying to find some courage to deal with him, and then looked back at Sherlock. “Will it make you feel better, Sir?”

The slightest hint of disbelief crossed his face as he looked at her again, really studying her this time. After a while he said, “You would do this for me.”

She nodded through her tears, and breathed, “Yes, Sir. I wish to help.”

Sherlock shook his head dismissively. “You’re naive, Bethany. This is no game. What I am talking about is pain, and hardship. If I can do this to myself,” he raised his arm defiantly, “imagine what I could do to you. I will not consider it. Now leave.”

Bethany looked at his harrowed face, pain written all across it, and only felt a great surge of love and concern and a need to help him. Quietly, she said, “Sir, you told me once that you valued trust and loyalty above all else. And so I will trust you, because I can’t leave you like this.”

He studied her face for a very long time before heaving a deep and resigned sigh. “Fine. You will leave your safety at the door and join me on my annual journey into Niflheim, and we will explore your trust and loyalty. But do not expect me to be kind or considerate, Bethany, because that is not what this is about.”

He stood up then, looking at her seriously, and she stood trembling and wondering if she had made a fatal mistake. “Now,” he said, “You will speak only when spoken to, you will eat when I feed you, you will relieve yourself when I allow you to. I will control your every move other than your heartbeat and your breathing, and of those your breathing is negotiable.”

She stared at him, realising what he was asking of her, and then closed her eyes and nodded. When she opened her eyes again he had moved behind her. “In return,” he said quietly, “I will endeavour not to cause any permanent damage.”


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR EDGE PLAY AND EMOTIONAL VIOLENCE/ABUSE
> 
> I will give a brief summary at the beginning of chapter 71.
> 
> In which Sherlock demonstrates his skill with ropes and Bethany feels very lost.

He left her standing by the bed as he went to the chest in the corner of the room and she was rooted to the spot, afraid to move even a muscle. The blade he had cut himself with was still lying on the bed and she glanced at it uncomfortably, wondering what could drive anyone to damage themselves like that in cold blood. Sherlock came back with a very long length of hemp rope, wound in loops around his arm, which he put on the bed before undressing Bethany without a word.

Taking the rope he moved behind her and made her hold her arms straight behind her back. Then, starting at her wrists, he began to tie the rope around her arms in an elaborate series of knots, slowly working his way up just over her elbows where he stopped. Then he took the knife off the bed and proceeded to cut the rope behind her back, the blunt edge of the blade cold on her skin, and she shivered involuntarily as she tried to suppress the thought that there was nothing stopping him turning it on her instead. He moved in front of her, absentmindedly joining the two ends that he had cut with practised hands and ran the rope around her back, placing the knot he had just created on her spine. Then he ran the rope ends across to her front, winding them around her waist a number of times and she watched in morbid fascination as he proceeded to tie an intricate network of knots across her chest, her breasts becoming ensnared in the pattern more tightly than was comfortable, the nipples protruding helplessly. He was working with an intense focus, paying her no other attention than as the object of this bizarre art, his hands working nimbly and quickly to some set pattern in his head. When he reached the ends of the rope he made the final knot on the back of her neck, and then he stood and regarded the results of his handiwork in a detached manner for a moment.

Bethany tried to make eye contact with him, feeling lost and scared and extremely vulnerable now her arms where firmly tied behind her back, but Sherlock ignored her, returning to the chest instead. He came back with another length of rope, cutting off a long piece as he went, and kneeled beside her where he proceeded to wrap the centre around her ankle. Another network of knots followed over her foot and lower leg, and when he finished there was still a sizeable length of rope remaining which he left lying on the ground, moving onto her other leg with a new piece of rope that he cut, repeating the pattern. She felt like she was slowly being encapsulated and wondered where he was going to finish, what his aim was in all this other than to immobilise her completely, which he could have achieved easily enough with a few simple knots.

When he had finished with her ankles Sherlock walked around her, looking her over as he went, and when he came to her back he stopped and put his hand on her shoulder and quietly said, “Kneel.”

Hearing his voice after all this time of silence shook her, and combined with the touch of his hand Bethany found her knees went weak. With her arms tied her balance had also gone, so that when she tried to follow his command she simply collapsed, tipping sideways. Unable to recover herself at all she tumbled face first towards the edge of the bed.

For all his detached manner Sherlock was quick, and he caught Bethany by the waist and turned her fall into something graceful as he lowered her to the ground where she knelt, shaking. She waited for a word of comfort or a reassuring touch but none came, and she shed a few quiet tears wondering how she could feel so desperately alone when he was in the same room as her.

As Sherlock walked around and lowered himself onto one knee in front of her he met her eye, but if she expected an acknowledgement of her discomfort or some sign of sympathy she was mistaken. He regarded her in a clinical fashion, studying her upset state as if it was some kind of fascinating phenomenon, and not the reality of fear and distress that she was experiencing. He touched her face a moment, tracing the track of her tears, and then brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her distress as he watched her reaction. She closed her eyes and cried then, big sobs that racked her bound body, and he watched her dispassionately, never offering comfort but merely studying her.

When she calmed down a little he offered her water, holding her head back by her hair and putting the cup to her mouth so she could drink, controlling even this simple action to the last detail. She drank thirstily, grateful for small comforts, but he took the drink away before she had had her fill, leaving her aching for more and once more upset. Watching him move around her and trying not to cry she contemplated that when she had offered herself she had expected agony, but that what he was subjecting her to was worse in a way because it was a subtle cruelty that reduced her to nothing.

\--oOo--

Kneeling beside her once more Sherlock calmly spread her legs and took the ends of the rope that he had knotted around her right ankle, beginning to tie it to her thigh. He brushed past her sex on several occasions, his touch eliciting a response that Bethany wished she was able to suppress or at least hide, but on his part Sherlock appeared to take little notice, calmly creating knots along her outer thigh and finally securing the ends of the rope to the bindings around her waist. Then he got up, walked around her and repeated the same process on her other leg, still working without saying a single word or even acknowledging her existence, making Bethany feel like she was of no more interest to him than a piece of furniture.

When he finished Sherlock stood up and watched her a moment from the edge of the bed. Bethany had run out of tears, her body’s response to his touch having numbed her fear somewhat, the tight bindings around her making her feel a little surreal. She found, however, that she was unable to meet his gaze as he studied her, feeling exposed and vulnerable and entirely at his mercy. More than anything she wondered at the purpose of the elaborate bondage that he was subjecting her to, but she was beginning to suspect that it was an end in itself, the creation of a piece of grotesque art with herself as the immobilised subject, a test of her trust, or indeed a confirmation of his power over her.

Once more Sherlock walked to his chest, returning this time with a length of smooth wood that had holes drilled all along it. It didn’t take Bethany long to work out its purpose as he inserted it through a gap in his ropework behind her knees and quickly tied it down, spreading her legs further as he went until the stretch was almost painful. It left her almost totally immobilised, the only part of her body she was still able to move now her head. The unmistakable arousal that he had caused by positioning her in this way she tried to suppress as much as she could, feeling a little betrayed by her body and wondering how her mind could even conceive of it in this situation.

He sat on the bed for a while then, having a drink himself, studying Bethany as she kneeled on the hard floor, her knees little pools of pain, her shoulders hurting as they were pulled backwards by his ropework, her unfortunate arousal mingled with fear. She looked back at his face, hoping he might speak to her, but he simply returned her gaze with indifference and looked back at his cup, detached from her experience to a degree that terrified her.

After contemplating his drink a moment he suddenly focused on her, and taking a swig he knelt down before her. To her shock he leant down, ran his hand into her hair and kissed her, but she was even more surprised when she found him offering her the water he had taken into his mouth. She drank as she kissed him with tears in her eyes, his subtle point about her total dependency on him hitting home hard, relishing the brief moment of intimacy although it was once more mingled with fear.

As soon as she had finished Sherlock stood up, keeping the contact to a minimum and immediately turning away from her. He returned to the bed, calmly sorting through the lengths of rope he had left there, joining some with simple knots to create longer pieces. Then, apparently not satisfied, he abruptly left the room, leaving Bethany stranded.

It seemed to her that time stood still while he was gone and the total silence in the room brought into focus both her position of total vulnerability and the aches in her knees and her shoulders, the stretch in her thighs and her slightly laboured breathing against her bonds. She sat wondering what time of night it was, how long she had been in Sherlock’s room and as she did so she realised she had lost all ability to tell the passage of time in that dark place. At a guess she made it past midnight, although it might be much later. It would explain her exhaustion, she thought, and the way her eyelids kept drooping despite her awkward position.

\--oOo--  

Sherlock returned eventually, carrying another length of rope. He had washed and bandaged his arm, but he had the same detached look on his face when he stood in front of Bethany again, pulling a clean shirt over his head. She thought he looked possibly more frightening this way, his apparently sane exterior contrasting sharply with the coldness in his eyes.

Reaching under the bed he pulled out a bedpan, and he lifted her and allowed her to relieve herself, which she did with resignation at her situation as there was no other choice and she had the need. She felt degraded by the experience, wondering how he could be so cold when he knew she loved him and would do anything for him, and wishing he would at least speak to her or acknowledge her distress. Afterwards he lowered her back on the floor, and her knees and ankles screamed with pain as her weight once more pressed down on them. She cried quietly, knowing that he would not allow her to change her position, and he ignored her to pick up his ropes instead.

Working his way around her, Sherlock began to fasten pieces of rope to the harness he had already created around her body. When he was done he stood behind her and braided all the loose ends together as he slowly walked backwards, taking her long hair and incorporating it in the braid as he went. Bethany felt strange, as if she was slowly becoming one with his ropework, but she wasn’t prepared when he cast the end of the rope through the ring on his ceiling with a practised move and simply hoisted her up as the end came down as if she was a piece of rigging.

Bethany shrieked unwittingly as all the bonds around her tightened and she swung upwards, her head tipping forward as her bottom tilted up and she hung suspended in mid-air, her back and arms horizontal, her face looking at the floor and her open sex perfectly exposed.

For a moment she expected agony, but she was surprised to find that although the ropes were tight her weight was borne equally across them and there was no real pain. Even though she was terrified of what he was doing to her she could only admire Sherlock’s skill in what he had created as he fastened the rope he had hoisted her up by somewhere out of her sight.

Time to think there was not, however, as he approached her again. With her hair braided into the ropes she could no longer move her head, and so the only things visible to her were a small area of floor, the edge of his bed and his boots as he walked around. When he stopped by her side she hoped he might say something or even touch her to reassure her, but instead he ran a piece of rope through her mouth, fastening it behind her head tightly enough to cause discomfort. She closed her eyes, wishing she was brave enough to ask him to stop, feeling completely vulnerable and scared with it. She desperately hung on to the thought that he was testing her trust, that he wouldn’t really hurt her, but in the back of her mind a gnawing thought kept telling her that he was not his usual self and that, besides, he had a reputation for gruesome deeds that had given her nightmares as a child.

After gagging her Sherlock had disappeared from her field of vision, and she could now hear him get on the bed as she strained to make out what was going on. She could hear the rustling of paper, and then a noise that she could not place for a moment but that she eventually recognised as the sound of pen on paper, the soft clink of the metal tip against an ink bottle interspersing the soft scratching noises, as she realised that he was either drawing or writing. She was not sure which of those disconcerted her the most, and she boggled to think what was in his mind to make him act in this way.

As she hung in the ropes, unable to move a muscle without the greatest effort, the peaceful sound of Sherlock’s working the only thing that could be heard and without any apparent immediate threats to her safety she was suddenly overcome with complete exhaustion. She had no idea what the time of night was but she was absolutely certain that she should have been asleep hours ago. As much as she tried she could not keep her eyes open, and against all the odds she slowly sank into an unlikely sleep.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL VIOLENCE AND DUBIOUS CONSENT
> 
> In which Bethany realises that she may have made a massive mistake, and Sherlock has very little consideration.

She awoke to a searing hot pain across her sex, a sudden flash of agony that cut through her disturbed sleep, taking away her breath and bringing stinging tears to her eyes. Struggling against her bonds she tried to scream, finding herself gagged, completely disorientated for the moment and unable to understand why she could not move. Then everything that had happened in the night came back to her, and she hung limply in her bonds gasping as much as the gag would allow her, blinking away tears, wondering what had hit her. Behind her, Sherlock said coldly, “I did not give you permission to sleep.”

She whimpered in distress as she realised that he had lashed her with something as she slept, wishing the nightmare could end. As if to answer her thought Sherlock said, “I promised you pain and hardship, Bethany, and you accepted. Do not now act surprised. I will have your apology.”

She closed her eyes, cursing herself for thinking this was going to be easy, that he would be considerate to her when he had made it so very clear that he would not. He was right of course, he had warned her profusely and she had insisted he use her when instead she could have just left him to his personal hell and run away like any sane person would have done. Gritting her teeth she faced the reality of what she had gotten herself into, and forced an unintelligible, “I’m sorry, Sir,” past the gag.

Another searing lash hit her sex and she shrieked. When her sobs had died down a little, Sherlock said, “I could not understand a word of that.”

With the greatest effort she collected herself and slowly and carefully formed the words, “I am sorry, Sir,” past the gag as best as she could, praying that it would be enough. Apparently it was sufficiently clear to appease him, because no further lash followed. Instead, she felt his hand on her sex, slowly sliding a long finger inside her, and he gave a short and humourless laugh that conveyed complete disdain at her arousal, adding to the shame she already felt on that account tenfold and making her wish she could just hide.

He withdrew, but his finger was followed by a cold and smooth object pushed against her, and as he slid it inside her she realised it could only be the glass phallus that Ranald had given him. There was nothing she could do as her body reacted of its own accord, relishing the entry after hanging in suspense for what felt like hours, and she moaned involuntarily as he ran his fingers over her clit while moving the thing slowly in and out of her, often leaving her sex altogether for a moment before entering her once more with maddening slowness. It took no time at all for her arousal to build up to a peak that promised to be devastating, and just as he pushed her over the edge he replaced the glass artefact with his own shaft, the sudden contrast adding a whole new dimension to her orgasm as she came straining against her bonds, moaning through the gag. He took her fiercely, drawing out her contractions as he worked up to his own peak, using her suspended position to swing her into himself hard, and when he finally came she was sobbing, overwhelmed and exhausted by the experience.

When he was spent he walked back in front of her and sat on the floor with his back against the bed, looking up at her. She met his eye expecting disdain, but found him calm and watching her with some sadness. In a way it was more unnerving, because he still did not speak to her or make any effort to release her, but simply watched her tear-streaked face until he had had his fill. Then he knelt by her and kissed her over the gag, and told her to sleep, and as he disappeared into his bed she wondered how on Earth he expected her to be able to do so in her bound state. Exhaustion got the better of her, however, and she dropped off minutes after he had blown out the candles, wrapping the room in total darkness.

\--oOo-- 

She did not know how long she had slept and whether it was indeed morning when she awoke. The room was once more in semi-darkness, and she figured it must mean that Sherlock was awake and had lit candles, but she could neither see nor hear him as she looked down on her little piece of floor, studying the wooden boards that had become her universe, the way the edge of the bed created vague shadows, the dust underneath where her cleaning had missed it. There was a small puddle on the floor where she had drooled over her gag during the night and she considered it in a detached manner, vaguely impressed that she had been able to sleep at all. Her body appeared to have settled into the awkward position Sherlock had tied her in, but she wondered if she would ever be able to stretch her legs again as her hips had gone numb and her knees were aching. The ropes were cutting into her in several places causing her considerable pain, but more pressing was the fact that she desperately needed to relieve herself, and that she was thirsty.

Eventually Sherlock entered the room and she could tell that he had been outside because he smelled of rain as he walked past her. He stopped in front of her, probably contemplating her a moment, and her breath hitched when she realised he was carrying a bunch of freshly cut willow branches. She gave an involuntary terrified whimper, and he responded with a short, mirthless laugh, a mere short exhalation of breath to signal that he had achieved his desired reaction. Then he put the branches on the bed where she could see them and began to check her over, running his hands over and under the ropes, testing the tension, occasionally moving them slightly. When he was satisfied he allowed her to relieve herself and she did so without further thought, simply thankful to have one discomfort taken off her.

Sherlock disappeared again and returned moments later with food and drink, and he removed her gag and sat down cross-legged in front of her, feeding her pieces of bread and cheese and letting her drink as much as she was able to in her awkward position. He made no eye contact with her as he did so, and she resigned herself to being in her own little world of discomfort and fear as much as he appeared to be in a world where he needed to inflict suffering, quietly hoping he might forget to gag her again.

When she had finished Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, and while she could not see what he was doing the thin strips of willow bark hitting the floor in front of her told her all she needed to know. As he finished the job and stood up she closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears, waiting for the first lash to hit her. Instead, she felt his hand on her bottom, gently stroking her skin. The feeling was unexpectedly nice and she jumped a little in her bonds, but when Sherlock calmly said, “Ten, Bethany. Count,” she realised he was merely giving her prior warning as to where he was aiming to strike. After a moment he added, “If you manage to stay quiet I will leave off the gag.”

The first lash came down hard enough to make her gasp, but she managed to suppress a shriek by clenching her jaws together and balling her fists, tears rolling down her cheeks. When she was certain she could remain quiet she counted one. Waiting to see if he would stroke her again there was suddenly pain, unannounced, searing across her other buttock. She screwed up her face, determined not to cry out, and managed to breathe through it as it subsided, replaced with heat. She counted two as he suddenly lay down another, and it took effort not to allow her count to become a shriek, but she managed it with the force of her determination to retain this little bit of freedom. It was manageable, just, to keep her self control as he lashed her, and she got to nine gasping and clenching her fists, allowing the tears free rein since they were quiet. While she realised that he was not using anywhere near his full force she felt proud, and determined to win this little victory. However, she was in no way prepared for the tenth lash that came down with vicious accuracy across her sex, harder than any that had gone before, making her see stars.

She nearly screamed but in the same instant she was overcome with rage, a wild anger that would have had her throw herself at him if she had been able to at the unfairness of his treatment of her, his need to employ such a low trick just because she was about to win a small challenge. She clenched her jaw and used the hurt to fight her bonds instead, a pointless, painful struggle that stopped her from screaming out, breathing through the agony and the tears, flatly refusing to let him succeed.

He stopped then, walking back round to look at her and getting down to her level to meet her eye. She scowled back at him, feeling like throwing any number of curses his way, still breathing heavily as the pain only slowly subsided. Sherlock, however, looked smug, and there was a fey look in his eye that made her think twice about showing her anger, because it was clear he enjoyed this more than was healthy and she was in no position to provoke him.

\--oOo-- 

He walked off when she looked away, returning to his pen and paper, but this time he sat down on the floor with his back to the bed where she hung and she could make out that he was sketching, not writing, and although she could not see what he was creating as he had the book propped up against his knee, facing away from her, she was quite sure she knew what the subject matter was. She could not suppress a shudder as she watched him clinically document her distress.

When he was satisfied with what he had done he closed the book and put it down, picking up the willow switches again as he got up. Standing behind her he traced a finger over the marks he had already created and she shuddered once more at his complete lack of emotion, knowing full well where this was going and dreading it. When he quietly said, “Again,” she held her breath and clenched her jaw, determined not to give him any excuse to gag her. Ten more searing lashes followed, harder than the first ten, and she bucked and fought her bonds while remaining stoically silent as the ropes cut into her and her breath came in ragged gasps. Her voice was faltering on the counts, but she forced herself to be coherent, anger now giving her a fierce determination not to let him break her.

When he finished and came to meet her eye again there was amusement mixed with his coldness, and she realised she had unwittingly given him a challenge that he was all too happy to take on. Her thoughts must have shown on her face because he broke into a slow grin, and she could no longer look at him as he said, quietly, “Oh Bethany. That was foolish.”

As he walked behind her once more she wondered what she had brought on herself, cursing herself for being so bloody-minded. When he said, “Five. Permission to scream,” she knew she had indeed been stupid, but there was no time to think as he lay down five hard lashes across her buttocks in quick succession, breaking the switch on the last one. It took a second for the pain to arrive but when it did she screamed, unable to contain or even comprehend the agony anymore, reduced to a sobbing mess as it flared and spread. When the worst of it passed she hung limply in the ropes, crying mindlessly, wondering when this would end.

\--oOo-- 

Afterwards Sherlock spent more time drawing, sitting at different angles from her body as he worked his way around her. From what she could occasionally glance once she had calmed a little he was an accomplished artist, and she thought that she shouldn’t have been surprised at that, but his subject matter was grim. _Draw what you need to_ , it flashed through her mind, and it struck her that he was doing just that, only while she had used the imagery in her own mind he seemed quite prepared to create some real suffering on the ground to study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. She really deserves none of it. He's a twat, basically.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL VIOLENCE AND SELF HARM.
> 
> In which Sherlock goes a step too far.

He left her alone for a long time after that, disappearing from the room altogether, and she hung in her bonds wondering if she’d ever be able to walk again, making the most of his absence to rest as much as her position allowed her. While she could have closed her eyes she refused to, not having been given permission to sleep, and she kept herself awake by thinking about Sundvik and her family and by digging up memories of silly things Inge and her had done together. It cheered her up a bit, although she wasn’t sure that the homesickness made it worth it.

To her surprise Sherlock returned with a plate full of fried fish and a mug of ale, which he shared with her as he sat on the ground in front of her as before, passing her little pieces that she ate ferociously, getting her to drink awkwardly. She had no idea what time it was but her stomach told her that breakfast had been many hours ago, and so she ate everything he offered her as she had no idea when food might arrive again. Afterwards he sat and peeled her the first of the autumn apples with the knife off the bed, and she watched him manipulate the blade deftly, quietly wishing he’d put the thing away as she accepted the small pieces he cut off. They were tart and made her eyes water, and the taste reminded her of home.

\--oOo-- 

She must have dropped off after Sherlock left the room again because she woke to the feeling of him stroking her buttocks. Immediately she tensed, expecting the touch to be followed by pain in punishment for her negligence, but instead she felt him hard against her, pushing against her exposed sex, not quite entering. Her body reacted almost immediately to his presence, and he hummed approvingly as she relaxed to him, her arousal building rapidly despite any better judgment on her part. He slowly pushed himself inside her and then stayed there, unmoving, while she could only hang and experience the sensation of him stretching her, setting off fireworks. As time went on she began to wonder how long he could stay there because her body was becoming more and more desperate for him to move, and still he stood silently as her breathing deepened, unable to stop herself reacting to him even if she had wanted to. She vaguely contemplated whether there was anything she could do herself, but the thought hadn’t even properly formed when there was the slightest tap of a switch on her bottom and she banished the idea immediately, not having realised he was carrying that, suppressing a whimper.

It felt like an eternity passed as they stayed like that and she got more and more worked up. How he maintained his own self control she didn’t know, but it appeared to come easy to him, while she was beginning to struggle to form coherent thoughts. When he finally did move she nearly cried out with the sensation he created, but he simply withdrew, leaving her gasping and wondering why he’d stopped. Behind her, Sherlock said, “Remind me how long I told Master Hiccup I could keep you like this.”

She let out a whimper when she realised what he was planning and answered his question quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Indefinitely, Sir.”

“Quite so,” he said, stroking her bottom gently, running his fingers just past her sex as she suppressed a frustrated moan and he chuckled quietly. “We’ve only just started, Bethany. You could be here for hours. Shall I gag you?”

She tried to shake her head and found she could not, so she whispered, “Please, no, Sir,” hoping that would stay him. He ran the willow switch over her bottom in response. “Then be quiet.”

Unable to move, forbidden to make a sound and tired from everything she had endured that day she slowly found herself going inward, descending into a trance-like state as Sherlock played her body like an instrument, keeping her arousal at a level that would have had her moan and beg had she been allowed to. He was stroking her with his hands, running past her sex, every so often sliding his finger inside her, sometimes two, occasionally entering her slowly with his shaft. Then her arousal would build until she’d think she may reach her peak, only for him to withdraw, or keep perfectly still, or once or twice lay down the switch hard enough to break the moment.

She began to feel like she was floating as her body was reacting of its own accord, submitting to Sherlock’s ministrations as she felt herself relax to his will, accepting his full control and finding freedom where there should be frustration. Her universe shrunk to the touch of his hands and even time ceased to have meaning as she hung in a state of suspense, existing as a being made purely of sensations for him to manipulate. When eventually he brought her close to release and didn’t stop but pushed her on instead, she found herself unsure of letting go, unwilling to anger him if he did not wish for her to reach orgasm. However there was genuine warmth in his voice when he quietly said, “Permission to come, Bethany,” and she let the sensation take her then as he pushed her over the edge, running his fingers across her clit and then inside her. Just as she began to come he withdrew his hand and put the switch sharply across her sex, immediately following the lash by entering her firmly, and she exploded into orgasm moaning at the confusion of sensations, all thought of being silent thrown overboard as he rode her waves, climaxing with her as he did so.

Afterwards he attended to her basic needs, checking her bonds, letting her drink and relieve herself, but he kept her suspended still as he kissed her and told her to sleep, and she wondered if he was still labouring a point when he stretched out on his bed making noises of comfort. By now her whole body was aching from the extended time she had been immobilised and the strains that had been inflicted upon it, and as she listened to his regular breathing as he drifted off to sleep she felt a pointless surge of jealousy at his freedom, and resentment at her unfair imprisonment. Holding onto the emotion was just as futile as the emotion itself, however, and after a few minutes she let it pass, slowly drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep.

\--oOo--

Bethany awoke, coughing, to dim candlelight in the room and a view of Sherlock’s bare feet stretched out from where he was sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, dressed only in breeches and a linen shirt that should have been washed days ago. There was smoke in the air, strong and acrid, catching in her throat and making the room even gloomier. She looked at Sherlock’s face and found him once more drawn, not meeting her gaze, staring straight ahead with a fey look in his eyes that made her stomach knot. It took her a moment to notice the glint of metal, but then she saw the blade that he was mindlessly turning around in his hands. Her breath hitched, realising the acute danger he represented and she hung very still, trying not to make a sound or draw any attention to herself, hoping he might snap out of the lethal mood he found himself in before noticing her.

He looked up, catching her eye a moment and holding it with a look that conveyed complete indifference. Then he returned his attention to the knife in his hand, lifting it up and studying it a moment before putting it on the exposed skin of his arm and pulling it across slowly, watching with clinical detachment as he cut himself, blood welling up behind the blade. Bethany closed her eyes in terror, trying to fight back the tears, trying not to show her fear of him, attempting to keep her breath steady – anything to stop him focusing on her instead. When she opened them again she found him studying the damage he had done to himself, absentmindedly running his index finger over the cut and bringing it to his mouth, tasting his own pain as he had tasted the distress in her tears previously. She cried quietly, for her terror and for his pain, her tears hitting the wooden floor with little noises that only amplified the silence in the room.

He focused on her then, shifting his attention to her face while the blood on his arm still ran freely, studying her distress dispassionately. She met his eye, hoping beyond hope that he might snap out of this, that he would register her terror and find some empathy underneath his layers of coldness and indifference but instead he stood up, still carrying the knife, and began to walk a slow circle around her. Unable to stop herself she whimpered as she cried, hanging frozen in her bonds in terrified expectation of what he might be about to do to her.

She could feel him touching the ropes that were keeping her suspended, but she wasn’t prepared when he quickly cut the ones holding up her legs and back. She swung down to a vertical position, the ropes braided into her hair suddenly tensioning painfully and forcing her head back as she cried out in surprise and pain. Sherlock walked in front of her, watching her distress, his gaze lingering on her exposed throat a moment as she gasped for air. Then he placed the knife behind her neck and simply brought it up through her hair, cutting her long braid close to her shoulders with a few quick slashes. She brought up her head, aghast at what he’d done to her as she looked at him in shock. He returned her gaze coldly, and said, “We all lose things we care for, girl.”

For a moment she looked at him, registering his words, and then the blindingly simple answer flared out at her as she suddenly wondered what or indeed who it was that he had lost himself, to explain such a lethal mood swing at the end of every August, the agony that held him prisoner. She blinked at him in sudden understanding but he read her face and scowled, his features hardening further as he said coldly, “I don’t need your pity, child. Not when I can have your suffering.” 

Turning her head away from him she cried again then, unable to stop at all now, but Sherlock walked to the side of her, taking no notice. She froze in fear when he slid the knife under the bonds that tied her left leg, the touch of the cold metal sending shivers through her body as she quietly whimpered, but instead of cutting her he cut through the ropes, freeing her first on the left, then quickly repeating the same on her right side. Her legs flopped uselessly to the floor as the wooden bar fell with the ropes, and with her new freedom came pain as her body readjusted after the long hours of being forced into one unnatural position, her blood flowing freely once more, her muscles suddenly cramping from the rapid change. Try as she may she could not keep quiet as her whole lower body was shot through with flames of agony, and she sobbed as Sherlock stood back and watched her coldly.

When her circulation slowly returned to normal and she began to calm down a little he stepped up to her again, taking her chin and making her look at him, and he studied her face as he said, “Quiet.” With the last of her energy she clenched her jaw and slowed her breathing, exhausted to the core now and almost indifferent to what he might do next, the terror of his actions having numbed her. A tiny part of her hoped that he might just release her, but instead he put his hands on her face, closing her nose with one and covering her mouth with the other just as she exhaled, and she found herself unable to breathe in at all, panic quickly taking over. He was watching her closely, studying her reactions as she realised he literally held her life in his hands, and just as she was about to completely lose it at his complete indifference he took his hand off her mouth and replaced it with his lips, opening her mouth and breathing air into her lungs.

Bethany stood completely stunned as she took his breath, then felt him take the air back out of her lungs as he breathed in, exhaling through his nose and taking in a fresh breath before returning it to her once more. Her world was suddenly reduced to the touch of his lips on hers and the passing of life between them, and how could there be anything else because this is what she had become, a borrowed existence that was completely dependent on him from moment to moment. It was terrifying and beautiful at the same time, and after a while she relaxed as she realised that he was giving her exactly as much as she needed, that this was another test of her trust in him. He took his lips away for a moment then, putting his hand back across her mouth as he studied her face once more. This time she looked back at him calmly, and he shook his head slightly with an expression that conveyed disdain and sadness in equal measure before once more returning life-giving breath to her.

After what seemed like an age he stepped away from her, releasing his hands, and it seemed strange to be able to breathe on her own again as she inhaled deeply, wondering at the lightness of her breath. Sherlock, however, had returned his attention to the bed, where he contemplated the thin knife a moment before picking it up and turning back to Bethany. The look in his eye chilled her to the core, because where she hoped he might have softened during that intimate exchange of breath he had not, and he regarded her with the same cold gaze still. She whimpered and closed her eyes as he approached her, in denial as much as out of fear of him, and she stood in terror as his fingers brushed her neck, removing her collar. She felt physically sick when he dropped it carelessly on the floor where it landed with an ominous clatter that cut the silence, and when she felt the cold, sharp steel of the blade against her throat she froze altogether, barely daring to breathe.

She opened her eyes then, although she feared what she might find in his face and he met her gaze coldly, a fierce carelessness in his eyes that she had seen once before, when he had Geir at the edge of his rapier. Instead of panicking, however, she was suddenly overcome with a deadly calm, because there was nothing she could do to stay his hand should he choose to make that final move that would have her life’s blood spill. She looked at his face and studied him instead, the ferociousness covering his pain and self-loathing and she wanted to tell him that she loved him, and that he didn’t need to do this, and that there was no self-hatred in the world big enough to make taking her life like this worth it. He looked back at her, a faint hint of disbelief crossing his features as he said with a voice full of disdain, “You trust me still, girl?”

She carefully took a deep breath, held his gaze and said, “Yes, Sir, I do.”

She could see him shut out the pain and anger as she said it, his despair at being unable to break her trust in him, and he focused on her once more with a look that only conveyed how much he believed he did not deserve it as he said, “Then you are a fool.”

He moved his hand, slowly drawing the knife across her skin and she could feel it cutting into her, warm blood trickling down her neck in its wake as her breath hitched and she suppressed a terrified shudder. It was a shallow cut, but he watched it with relish, running his fingers through the thin trail of red, tasting her pain as he brought his hand to his mouth, and looking quite out of control as he softly lowered the blade to her throat again. Trying to keep her breath as steady as she could, panic coursing through her veins and threatening to take over her moment of composure, she swallowed, gathered up all her courage and said in a tone of voice that one might use to calm an upset child, “Sherlock, stop.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock’s eyes shot to hers with a flare of outrage that she had dared to speak to him, a flicker of confusion at her total disregard for protocol, and just the slightest hint that he had actually heard her words. She met his eye calmly, knowing this might well be her last chance, and repeated softly, “Enough, Sherlock. Please.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly trying to see through the red mist that had him in its grip and she held his gaze, hoping against hope that she had managed to get through to him. Then, all of a sudden, he appeared to register her fully, recognising the fear of death in her face as his gaze shot to the cut on her throat, the blood on his fingers, the blade hovering over her skin. He closed his eyes as he stepped back abruptly, taking a shuddering breath as he dropped the knife on the floor and held up his hands in a gesture of disarmament, and then he stood, breathing heavily as he visibly composed himself.

When he opened his eyes again he looked her over with an expression of horror, to all intents and purposes back in the here and now, and he wasted no time crossing the room and unfastening the rope, lowering her carefully to the floor where she collapsed in a sobbing heap. He all but ran back to her, lifting her in his arms as he knelt down by her side, drawing her to him in an embrace so tight she could barely breathe. She felt dizzy and weak and was quite unable to feel any more surprise when suddenly the bedroom door opened with a bang and Ranald’s voice cut through the silence, sounding horrified as he said, “Sherlock, what have you done?”

Sherlock briefly tensed at the intrusion, but then he too sagged as he said, “She lives, Ranald, she lives,” rocking Bethany slowly, his body shuddering as he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, guys. She'll be OK. And as for Sherlock, we'll see.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the preceding chapters: Sherlock has held Bethany captive for three days, inflicting suffering on her. Things got out of hand on day three when he almost convinced himself to kill her, but she stopped him although she got cut in the process. Ranald has turned up just as this reached its conclusion.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR PHYSICAL PUNISHMENT [REFERENCED]
> 
> In which Ranald takes charge.

Ranald made short work of taking charge of the situation, taking Bethany off Sherlock who retreated to the bed where he sat against the wall with his knees drawn up into his chest, staring into space. Ignoring him for the moment Ranald cut Bethany’s remaining bonds as he spoke soothing words to her, making sure she was alright, rubbing the circulation back into her muscles as she painfully stretched her arms forward for the first time in what felt like days. Ranald looked over to Sherlock with concern in his face, and asked, “How long have you had her like this, Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes when he answered numbly, “Three days,” and Ranald glowered at him before looking back at Bethany, running his hands over her chopped-off hair and the cut on her throat, across the deep marks that the ropes had left in her skin as he looked at her sadly and said, “Oh, little bird, you didn’t deserve that.”

He held her as she cried, and when she ran out of tears he treated her cuts and bruises before helping her back into her clothes and getting her something to drink. Then he sat her on Sherlock’s armchair with a blanket wrapped around her as he walked around the room, picking up pieces of rope as he went. When he had a good handful he sat on the edge of the bed and started to braid them together as Bethany wondered what he was doing and Sherlock watched him with a detached look on his face, still hugging his knees.

It took a while before Bethany worked out that he was making a cat-o’-nine-tails, and she sat quietly as she realised what its purpose would be. When he was finished he contemplated the thing a moment, and Bethany thought it looked evil, quite different to the whip that Sherlock had made to use on her, with long strands and many bloodknots. It was unashamedly created to do damage and she gave a little shudder, sick and tired of the violence around her. Ranald looked at her sympathetically and said, “I’m sorry, little bird, but this is something that must be done if your master is to live with himself.” Then he turned to Sherlock, and said, “Twenty.”

Sherlock looked back from the whip to Ranald’s face, and flatly answered him, “Fifty. I nearly killed her, Ranald.”

Ranald sighed and shook his head as Bethany watched the bizarre conversation with wide eyes. “No, Sherlock,” the younger man said, “I have no wish to be the means to your self-destruction. Thirty. I’ll add five if you manage to keep count.”

Sherlock held his eye a moment and then sighed, resigned, and said, “Fine.”

\--oOo-- 

Ranald stood up and walked over to a chest of drawers, sliding open the second drawer and taking out a heavy key that Bethany recognised all too well. She tried not to think about how he knew where that was kept as he walked past her back to Sherlock, getting him to stand up and walk in front of him. Sherlock did so with a look of resignation and Bethany thought he looked terrible, drawn and indifferent and extremely tired. As they got to the door, Ranald turned to Bethany and said, “There’s no need for you to witness this, little sparrow. Get us a bucket of water though, if you think you can walk. This shouldn’t take long.”

She watched them go and sat feeling sick as she heard the heavy door at the end of the corridor open with a creak and close again with a heavy clang. Then she made herself get up, unable to sit and listen to what sounds might come through the heavy ironwork, wishing to be as far from this as possible. Her legs held, just, and she slowly made her way to the kitchen, got a bucket and went outside, surprised to find that the bad weather had passed and a watery sun shone through the thin clouds that were being chased by the high winds. There was a distinct scent of autumn in the air, and it took her a while to work out what time of day it might be, eventually making it early afternoon.

Getting the full bucket of water back to the house took effort, but she was glad to have something to focus on that allowed her not to worry too much about what Ranald was doing to Sherlock. She got back to Sherlock’s bedroom before they did, and after giving it some thought she went and got some wash cloths and a towel, putting them on the bed. Then she sat and waited, feeling exhausted and lost, trying not to strain her ears.

\--oOo-- 

She didn’t have long to wait; after a few minutes the door of the dungeon creaked open again and she could hear the men coming along the corridor. When they entered the bedroom she was shocked regardless of how much she had tried to prepare herself. Ranald was half-carrying Sherlock, his face grim, while Sherlock was stripped to the waist, his back covered in bloody cuts, staring at the floor with unseeing eyes as he tried to keep himself upright. Ranald dragged him to the bed and put him down on his front, and Sherlock groaned as he swung his legs over and then just stayed there, unmoving.

Not sure what to do, Bethany sat in her chair and hugged herself, but Ranald caught her eye and said, “You can help me clean him up if you wish, little bird. But don’t feel obliged, you don’t owe him anything.”

Thinking it was better to do something than to sit there in quiet horror she made her way over, taking one of the wash cloths. As she gently cleaned Sherlock’s cuts she wondered how many of the scars were indeed battle wounds, and how many might instead be self inflicted in some way, even if it was via a third party. In the end she decided it was a pointless question; they were all scars of battle, even though some of those were fought with the enemy within. She sighed, not sure how she felt as she looked at his broken body, and in the end she leant over and placed a kiss on his shoulder, on a spot where she hoped it would not hurt too much. Sherlock made a small noise and moved his arm, taking her hand in his. He simply held on to it as she knelt down next to him, meeting his eyes as she got down to his level, and he looked at her calmly as she gazed back at him, surprised that he looked more himself in this state than he had done in the last three days. He smiled faintly and kissed her hand, letting go of it to run his fingers over her face gently, following the shape of her jaw down to the cut on her neck. Although Ranald had cleaned it and it had stopped bleeding it was red and angry, and Sherlock contemplated it with an expression of regret before saying hoarsely, “Ointment. Apothecary, workbench.”

Her muscles had seized up as she was sitting down and everything hurt again as for a second she wondered if it was worth the effort, but she gritted her teeth and made her way to the apothecary, taking an oil lamp to give her something to see by in that dark little room. There were several jars that looked like they might contain what she was looking for and she checked them by smell, unable to read the writing on the labels as Sherlock had used his own script for them instead of the Viking runes. Eventually she found a jar that she believed was right, and she took it back for him to check. He nodded faintly when she showed it him and used a finger to carefully apply the ointment to her cut, and she sat and let him even though it would have been easier to do it herself. Then she returned her attention to his back now that Ranald had finished cleaning him up, and she gently applied the greasy substance to every bit of skin that had been bleeding, thinking there wasn’t much of him that hadn’t.

Ranald watched her quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, but he kept his thoughts to himself when she looked at him. Instead he took the ointment off her and said, “I would be most grateful, little bird, if you could find me some food, and yourself, too. I will finish this.”

Up to that point she had taken very little notice of her own hunger, but she suddenly realised that she had not eaten all day, and very little in the days preceding, and that she was famished. The kitchen, however, presented a sorry sight. All the bread had gone inedibly stale and the milk had gone sour, and so she raided the provisions for ship’s biscuits and cheese and opened a couple of jars of newly pickled vegetables and an old jar of pickled herring. She had to make two trips back to the bedroom as she was unable to carry a tray, but when she finally sat down with Ranald to eat, sitting in Sherlock’s armchair as he perched on a stool, the simple fare was as good as any feast she had tasted. Sherlock refused to eat but took a drink and then fell asleep without a further word. Exhausted herself she curled up in the armchair, quite happy to spend the night there, but Ranald picked her up and took her to her own bedroom, putting her to bed like she was a child.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing is quite right, and Ranald makes a point.

The following morning she was unsure what time it was when she awoke, so she made her way painfully to the courtyard to check the sun, realising that she had slept until well into the day. The house was still quiet and so she took up her chores for lack of knowing what else to do, feeding the animals and making sure they were cared for, collecting the eggs from the protesting hens and milking the goats. She felt better after that, as if life might return to normal if she willed it to, and she sat in the kitchen and ate some breakfast before starting the day’s bread.

Ranald appeared after a while as she was sweeping the floors, looking like he hadn’t slept at all, and he looked at her activity in the kitchen and shook his head, taking the broom off her with a sigh and saying, “Honestly, he doesn’t deserve you, birdie. Let’s sort your hair out.” He found a pair of shears in a drawer and sat her on a chair, making a quick job of tidying up the ragged mess of ends that Sherlock had left when he cut her braid. When he had finished he smiled at her approvingly and told her it suited her, and she thanked him for making her feel better even though the whole thing upset her. Ranald hesitated a moment before digging in his pocket and bringing up her collar, saying, “I found this on the floor.”

Bethany looked at the thing, not sure what to think. In the end she took it off him with thanks and put it in her apron pocket, still undecided about what she would do with it. Ranald watched her seriously for a moment, and then said, “He’s awake, Bethany. You may even get a rare apology from him.”

It was so unusual to hear him use her name that she looked at him a little shocked, but he just smiled at her, inclining his head towards the door. “Go and see him.”

\--oOo-- 

As she pushed open the door to Sherlock’s room she wasn’t sure what to expect, but she found him sitting upright in bed, dressed in a clean shirt and looking awake and calm, if drawn. His expression was guarded as she approached him, clearly uncertain how she might react towards him, but Bethany simply went over to the bed and sat down on the edge, taking his hand, not sure what to say.

Sherlock studied her in silence for a long time, and she began to wonder if he would speak to her at all. Eventually, however, he took a deep breath and sighed. Then he said, “I will not apologise for what I did, Bethany, because I was fully in control of my faculties and that would make me a hypocrite. But I hope you may find it in your overly generous heart to forgive me in some way.”

She looked at him, recognising the layers of defence behind the statement, the barely hidden self-hatred and the open guilt, and she smiled and said, “I accept your apology, Sir. And I forgive you.”

Sherlock stared at her a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something, then changing his mind. Eventually he said, a little surprised, “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while, and eventually Bethany made up her mind and took the collar out of her apron pocket, giving it to him. He took it off her gravely, turning it around in his hands contemplatively before returning his attention to her, looking a little sad. Then he carefully fastened it around her neck with a sigh, making sure it sat well below the cut on her throat, before once more thanking her quietly. In response she took his face and kissed him gently, murmuring her forgiveness, and he returned the kiss with tears in his eyes, pulling her further onto the bed as he did so and taking her into a firm embrace. She curled into him and stayed there as he broke off the kiss and simply held her, and it was enough.

\--oOo-- 

After some time she looked up and found that Sherlock had drifted off to sleep. Carefully she unwrapped herself and quietly slid off the bed, leaving him to rest as she returned to her duties. Ranald had made himself comfortable in the study, luxuriating in Sherlock’s chair and slowly building up a pile of books in which he had found things of interest on a table beside him, and she made sure he had food and drink before carrying on with her daily tasks.

She caught a glimpse of Sherlock wandering past the kitchen later in the afternoon, looking pale, and she heard him go out of the front door and watched him from the window as he crossed the compound in the light rain that was once again falling down. He walked into the woods, turning left at the steep path that went to the top of the island just before she lost sight of him. Ranald and she had eaten and it was nearly dark when he returned, drenched to the skin and shivering, his eyes red from crying. Ranald took one look at him and ordered Bethany to sort him out a bath, and she ran back and forth with hot water while Ranald helped his friend undress, never once chastising him for his actions but merely making sure he was cared for.

Afterwards Sherlock got dressed and made his way to the study, looking more like himself, and he greeted Bethany and Ranald quietly as he made his way to a seat by the fire, leaving Ranald in his chair with his books without comment. Ranald, however, clearly had a point to make as he closed his book with a decisive snap and put it on the table. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked over at him with a wary expression as he said, “Ranald.”

Ranald thought about what he was going to say a moment, looking at his hands. Looking back up, he said, “Listen, Sherlock, and with respect, this has got to stop. Someone is going to get seriously hurt if you carry on like this. Next year I’m picking you up in the middle of August and I don’t care if I have to tie you to the mast for two weeks, or feed you vodka until you pass out every day, or indeed strap you to a bed and hand you over to Hägar to deal with for the duration but this has gone far enough. I will not stand for it another year.”

Sherlock held Ranald’s gaze and Bethany could feel the tension between the two, Sherlock clearly considering this an infringement of his freedom, Ranald unwavering in his determination to stop his friend from destroying himself and those around him. Eventually Sherlock looked away petulantly, and said, “Fine.”

“Good,” Ranald said cheerfully, as if they’d just agreed on next day’s dinner, or the state of the weather. Sherlock scowled at him. “I will have a need for pain, Ranald. You need to realise that.”

Ranald shook his head and gave a little scathing laugh, the first time that Bethany had ever heard him be derisive in any way. Even Sherlock looked surprised as he said, “I am aware of what you _need_ , Sherlock. I think I have demonstrated that.”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in dismissive agreement and returned his attention to the fire. The room went quiet, and Bethany let out the breath she’d unwittingly been holding as she relaxed and returned to her reading. They sat in silence for some time, until Sherlock suddenly asked, “Creative, is he, Hägar?”

In his chair, Ranald’s face broke into a slow grin. “Exceedingly so.”


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup is ready to leave everyone to their own idiocy, Sherlock considers his options and Bethany gets angry.

Sherlock’s mood turned after that, and the following day he was up at the crack of dawn, calling for breakfast, rattling Bethany’s door to get her up. He had Ranald out on the courtyard for a sparring session before she had even got dressed, and she caught glimpses of them through the window as they fought, realising that for all his gentle manner Ranald was a spectacular swordsman whose skills were a close match to Sherlock’s. On his part Sherlock clearly relished the challenge, letting go much more than he ever did during his sessions with Hiccup, and after they finished on a stalemate they both came back grinning, even though Sherlock had managed to reopen several of the cuts on his back in the process and he looked like he’d been in a war, blood seeping through his white shirt in several places.

\--oOo-- 

Hiccup returned that afternoon, his look of vague concern about what he might find turning to shock as Bethany went to meet him. He took one look at her hair and the cut on her throat and went off to find Sherlock without even saying hello to her, looking thunderous. Bethany followed from a distance, not sure she wanted to witness the confrontation while at the same time certain that Hiccup would wish to speak to her, too.

She found the three men in the study, Hiccup momentarily caught on the back foot as he got to grips with Ranald, who had greeted him like an old friend and then cheerfully said, “You are too late, Master Hiccup, because I have already dealt with Sherlock’s trespasses, and he has paid the price for them. There is no need to revisit it.” While Ranald’s manner was light and carefree, even Bethany could read the unspoken warning to leave Sherlock well alone, and it was clear that Hiccup had picked up on it easily. Taken aback only a moment, Hiccup shook his head at him and simply said, “Eh, no.” Then he turned to Sherlock, and asked him straight, “What did you do to her?”

Sherlock, who had been sitting out of the way, watching Hiccup warily, covered his face with his hand as he groaned quietly, clearly in no mood to go over this again. However, Hiccup was not letting off, calmly standing in the room, watching him until eventually Sherlock relented. With a deep sigh he looked at Hiccup and said, “Master Hiccup, I kept your friend captive and treated her in a most abysmal fashion for three days before nearly killing her. That is the short version of it, the details of which I am sure Bethany could fill in for you if you wish to hear them. Ranald has meted out a considerable punishment, and Bethany has accepted my inadequate apologies most generously. If it makes things any more palatable for you I can confirm that Ranald has ensured there will be no repeat of this in future years.”

Hiccup did not seem in any way impressed as he said, “I should never have left her here.”

Sherlock considered him, his clear eyes serious. “I gave her explicit instructions to stay well clear of me, Master Hiccup, as I believe you did before you left. The girl not only ignored these, but gave me full permission to inflict her with pain and suffering, even though I warned her multiple times she would be in considerable danger. I did not go hunting her down, Master Hiccup. She came to me, and she had every chance to stay safe and chose not to.”

Hiccup turned to Bethany, looking extremely doubtful. “Really?”

She couldn’t meet his eye when she shrugged and said, “I thought I could help.”

Hiccup’s face was a picture as he stared at her with total, stunned incomprehension, muttering, “The Gods, you two deserve each other.” Then his face turned angry as he said, “That was _stupid_ , Bethany.”

Bethany went bright red at the unexpected telling off. Neither Ranald nor Sherlock had put any blame her way, and she had not thought Hiccup would react any differently. However he looked hurt underneath his anger when he added, “You promised, for Thor’s sake. I was trying to keep you safe.”

“I... I’m sorry, Sir,” she stuttered, realising that he did have a point. Hiccup shook his head at her and turned back to Sherlock. “It doesn’t excuse what you did.”

Sherlock met his eye calmly, and simply said, “I know.”

\--oOo-- 

That evening as Bethany walked past Sherlock’s room on the way to her bedroom she could hear Ranald and Sherlock’s voices drifting out through the crack in the door, which had been left ajar. When she heard Sherlock say, “Yes, you could, but she’s not cut out for that kind of life, Ranald,” she stopped in her tracks, realising that they were probably talking about her.

“She could stay on the island. There’s always space for one more, and you’ve taught her well. We could use her skills,” Ranald said. There was a short silence, and then Sherlock said, “Would you pay me?” Ranald’s answer was straightforward and quick. “You know my views on that, Sherlock. The answer is no, and I would expect you to free her.”

Bethany’s hair stood on end listening to her future being discussed in such hard terms. To her horror Sherlock responded to Ranald’s comment with a dismissive snort. “Not much of a return on investment then.”

Just as she started to walk away in shock she caught Ranald’s response, and it made her feel better, if only a little. “It depends what value you put on her wellbeing, and your peace of mind. And I think she’s paid her own dues, Sherlock.”

\--oOo--

She made a point of avoiding Sherlock the next day, being unable to look him in the eye after what she’d heard him say. The idea that she was just some valuable asset to him and that he was looking to make a profit from selling her on made her feel sick to the core. She served his food perfunctorily, spending as little time in his company as possible, and, maybe a little childishly, making sure she was as pleasant to Hiccup and Ranald as she could whenever she dealt with them. By the afternoon Sherlock turned up in the kitchen, planting himself near the door as he leant against the work surface looking quite at home, just watching her with his arms crossed. His silence put the willies up her, and she tried to ignore his presence as she prepared the vegetables for dinner, chopping them in rather randomly sized chunks as she tried to stop herself shaking.

Eventually he spoke, and when he did it nearly made her jump because his tone of voice made it clear she was in for a telling off. “Bethany.” She turned around in a tizz, still holding the knife, and he just looked at it and raised an eyebrow. Realising what she was holding she quickly put it down on the work surface behind her, where it misbalanced and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Sherlock stood a moment looking at her as she went bright red. Then he walked over, picked up the knife and put it down safely next to her vegetables. He ended up far too close to her, contemplating her face as she stared back at him, wondering how angry he was with her. He was impossible to read and it only made her nerves worse as he chewed his bottom lip a moment, clearly thinking of what to say, and then said, “Eavesdropping doesn’t suit you, Bethany, but sulking about half-heard comments is worse.”

She didn’t think she could go any redder as she looked at the floor, mortified. He took her chin and made her look up, and she found it almost impossible to meet his eye as he said, “Well?”

For a moment she thought about apologising, but then her anger at his remarks bubbled back to the surface, and she said, “I’m not a piece of livestock, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot up as he took in her response, head tilted slightly back as he considered her. Then he said, quietly, “I believe you are forgetting where you are and who you are with, Bethany. Whether it is right or wrong you are mine, and it is my right to decide what will happen with you when you leave here, and how much I include my own interests in that decision. It is regrettably none of your business.”

She shook her head at him in disbelief that he could even think that way, and whispered, “But it’s my _life_ , Sir.”

He held her gaze calmly as she looked at him for some sympathy, and answered as he let go of her chin, “I am aware of that, Bethany, and I am intending to ensure you are looked after. But that does not stop me from exploring options. Now please let the matter rest.”

It was hard to conceal how upset she was, and she fought back tears as she looked back at the floor. To her surprise she felt his hand on her face again, his fingers stroking her cheek gently. She looked back up to him to find him smiling at her, a little sadly maybe. “You knew this was coming, Bethany,” he said, “I’ve never made a secret of it.”

She looked at him through her tears and answered, “I thought you might change your mind, Sir.”

Sherlock shook his head ever so slightly. “No. Recent events have shown you are safer away from me.”

She shook her head in defiance as she stubbornly fought back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her, and he drew her to him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head and resting his chin on her hair as she cried. She let it go then, the anger and fear and upset at her impotence, her own rage at her love for him which went against everything she’d ever believed in, and he simply let her ride it out until there was nothing left. Then he kissed her head again and peeled her arms off him, wiping her tears gently with the back of his hand until she looked slightly composed, and said, “Dinner.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning double chapter surprise! With a couple of apologies for the heavy going over the last chapters. Unfortunately this part of the year was never going to be fun...
> 
> In which some things get put behind us, Sherlock keeps his distance and Bethany makes a bold move.

Ranald left the next morning and they all went down to the harbour where he had moored a little boat to see him off. There was a fresh wind and they had had to wrap up, and as Bethany looked back up to Sherlock’s little cliff-face woodland she noticed the first leaves were beginning to turn. She’d lost track of time in the preceding days but now realised that they were in the first week of September, and Hiccup would be returning to Berk permanently in less than a month’s time, leaving her future altogether uncertain. The thought left a feeling of dread at the pit of her stomach that she would find hard to shake in the weeks ahead.

Ranald renewed his promise to Hiccup to visit Berk before the end of the year, hugged Bethany goodbye and wished her well as she forced a smile, and stopped when he came to Sherlock. “Consider my offer, Sherlock,” he said, and Sherlock simply responded with, “I am.” Ranald looked at his former captain closely, bringing his hand to his face which was still looking quite drawn, not quite recovered, and gently said, “Look after yourself, my friend.” Sherlock covered Ranald’s hand in his and they stood a while before he said, “Thank you,” conveying more in those two simple words than seemed possible. Then Ranald smiled and kissed him, and Sherlock ran his hands through Ranald’s hair, pulling him in closer as he took over the moment to draw him into a passionate embrace, moving his right hand onto his friend’s lower back and drawing him into him, making both Bethany and Hiccup blush with his open show of intimacy. Ranald came up grinning, shaking his head and quite out of breath and Sherlock simply smiled and said, “That may make you return soon.”

In the evening Hiccup retired early, tired from the long flight back to Sherlock’s island, and Bethany spent time cleaning the kitchen to within an inch of its life in an attempt to avoid having to think about her future. When she ran out of things to clean she went to the study to see if Sherlock required anything, and found him sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with his drawing book, ripping out pages one by one, looking over them a moment and then slowly feeding them into the flames. She hesitated a moment before curiosity got the better of her; after all, she had been a part of the creation of these, and she felt she had some right to be there.

Sherlock looked up briefly when she entered the room, and from the fact he didn’t tell her to go away she concluded that she was welcome. Bethany carefully sat down next to him, not sure what his reaction would be but Sherlock carried on calmly, taking little notice of her. She glanced at the book and found herself fascinated despite her reservations; there was nothing gruesome about these drawings, although they were unsettling – mostly they were details of ropework enclosing parts of her body, picking out the interplay of the coarse knots and her smooth skin, the bizarre encapsulation of her limbs or her breasts, the symmetry and patterns in the bonds. They were drawn in a practised, austere style that caught the essence of the moment and highlighted the details that he had found important, and the effect was disturbing because there was beauty there, and cruelty, and a strange kind of love intermingled with it all.

One by one the pages were taken out, briefly studied and consumed by the flames as she watched him purge the experience from his life, and she felt grateful that he was allowing her to share this, giving her some closure, too. The few drawings he had done of her face she could not look at, because he had captured the fear in her eyes perfectly, and he flicked past these quickly, ripped them out and burnt them together in a little pile, the flames catching too rapidly and sending large pieces of half-burnt paper up the chimney. She feared for a moment the roof might catch fire before remembering that it had rained again all afternoon.

Sherlock was unperturbed, carrying on his slow purge, and she was surprised when he came to a full page drawing of her whole body hanging suspended from the ceiling, the detail and shading stunning. It must have taken a long time to create, and it took her a moment to realise that he had drawn this while she was asleep. There was no denying that it was a truly beautiful piece, and she felt a pang of regret when he ripped the page out of the book with no greater thought than he had given to any of the others. Just before he put it to the fire she put her hand on his arm and asked quietly, “Can I have it, Sir?”

He turned to her with a slight frown, looking a little confused at her request, still holding the paper very close to the flames. Fearing it might catch any moment, she added, “Please, Sir. I think it’s beautiful.” He looked at her in slight surprise, and then passed her the paper without a word. Bethany rolled it up carefully and put it in her apron pocket as she thanked him, and he contemplated her with a serious expression for a while before returning to his task, taking out the last remaining pages more quickly as the art became more grim, studying them nonetheless before allowing them to be consumed by the fire.

The last few images Bethany could barely stand to view as they documented her pain in great detail, and she wondered once again at the level of detachment he had achieved both in inflicting and documenting her suffering. It sent an involuntary shudder down her spine, and when he had committed the last of the pages to the flames he closed the thinned book and put an arm around her, and they sat in silence until the fire burnt down, each left to their own thoughts.

\--oOo--

In the morning she finally picked up the courage to share something with Sherlock in return, and she carefully cut out from her own book two of the drawings that she had been working on during their journey back from the Narwhal and in the days following. It had taken her much time until she had finally been happy with the results, and even now it was clear to her that she had achieved nowhere near the effortless accuracy that Sherlock’s drawing displayed, but they were her own and she was proud of them regardless, satisfied with their likenesses and pleased with their symmetry. The first one showed Sherlock as he had kissed Inge on the Storm Petrel, the second the image that had got lodged in her mind when he had done the same with Ranald on the Narwhal, and she put them by his plate before he arrived for breakfast, too embarrassed in the end to give them to him personally.

When she came to serve the food the drawings were gone, and Sherlock gave no indication that he had even seen them. However he came to find her after she had finished her chores and simply took her into his arms and kissed her forehead, smiling a little sadly at her as he said, “Thank you, Bethany, for returning to me beauty when I present you with pain.” She had no answer to that, so she just accepted his thanks by returning the embrace and contemplated his words for many days afterwards. The drawings she found back the next time she cleaned his bedroom, mounted on flat pieces of wood and hung carefully side by side on the wall nearest the bed.

\--oOo--

The house rapidly fell back into its daily routine, and to Bethany it felt almost like nothing had changed apart from the distance that Sherlock now kept from her, never asking her to join him in his room at night, making sure he did not touch her if he could avoid it. Although he treated her courteously as always she felt like she was treading on eggshells when she was near him, and Hiccup watched the change in them with concern, frequently asking Bethany whether she was alright in moments when they found themselves alone together. She found it hard to speak with him and decided that it was easier to tell him that she was fine, and it only added to his concern.

He took to long forays out on Toothless again, occasionally bringing her back small souvenirs from islands he had visited in an attempt to cheer her up, telling her stories of the dragons he had encountered along the way, or tales of Toothless' silly antics. She created a little collection in her bedroom with the smooth stones, interesting bits of dragon bone and teeth, feathers and the occasional flower he found her, and she would sit and ponder her future at night while picking them up and feeling their textures, wondering if she would be allowed to take these things with her when she went, whether any new owner might let her keep them, and most of all what Sherlock’s decision would be.

Eventually her loneliness became unbearable, and against her better judgment she left her room late one night to knock on Sherlock’s door. It took long moments for him to answer with a quiet, “Come,” and she pushed open the door wondering what kind of reception awaited her, whether she’d made a mistake.  

Sherlock was still up, reading in his chair by the light of a few candles. He looked at her warily as she made her way across the room, and when he said nothing as she approached him she could think of little else to do but to kneel in front of him, keeping her eyes on the floor. When he finally addressed her his voice was gentle. “I didn’t think I would see you in here again, Bethany.”

There really was nothing to say to that, as she was presenting clear evidence to the contrary, but it did make her wonder if his aloofness over the last week had been at least partly because he believed she did not wish for him to approach her. She looked up to see his face, and found him studying her, having put the book down. When she met his eye he asked, “What do you want?”

From anyone else the question might have been belligerent, even confrontational, but he spoke the words gently, genuinely. Bethany thought carefully, since she had a thousand answers to that question, but in the here and now she was only after one thing. “I would leave this place with good memories, Sir,” she said eventually.

He smiled wryly at her, and said, “I thought I would have wrecked any chance of that.”

Holding his eye, realising that her initial hunch had been correct, that he believed he had been protecting her in some way, she shook her head and just said, “No, Sir.” Then, when he looked at her with some disbelief, she added, “I forgave you.”

His slight chuckle only accentuated his incredulity as he said, “ _That simple_.”

Bethany shrugged as she looked at his knees, finding his close scrutiny unbearable. “You told me once not to dwell on things, Sir. There really is very little point. It was dealt with, and it hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He slowly slid off his chair onto the floor in front of her, ending up on one knee, and his sudden proximity made her breath hitch as he touched her face with a look of wonder and said, “Quite remarkable.” Narrowing his eyes, he said, “And if I met your request, would leaving here not become harder?”

She bit back tears, scolding herself at being so easily upset by him, and said, “I can’t see how that would be possible, Sir.”

He took her hand then and made her stand up, smiling at her sudden awkwardness as she found herself the object of his intense focus once more after long days of feeling like she didn’t matter to him. There was a distinct glint in his eye as he considered his next move, and said, “Happy memories it is.”


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is a tart - oh, we've been there before. He does make ever such an attractive one, though.  
> Bonus Sunday Evening smut chapter, in which the author indulges her hand kink.

True to his word, Sherlock kept Bethany more than distracted over the days that followed. While she was well aware that it was merely a game that he was playing she allowed herself to be taken along for the ride, relishing his extensive attentions, even though he had a tendency to proposition her at inappropriate moments, regularly causing her considerable embarrassment in front of Hiccup as he would suddenly butt in on a conversation to kiss her until she was dizzy, or simply order her to the bedroom. Hiccup had noted the change in Bethany with relief and was clearly amused at Sherlock’s antics, but it was clear that he was not entirely comfortable with it.

One evening, as Sherlock had grabbed Bethany after she gave him his drink, plonked her on his lap and proceeded to kiss her until she was incoherent, he could no longer remain quiet. While he was smiling at the state of Bethany, whose short locks were standing out on all sides as she tried to regain some composure, he said, “What are you doing, Sherlock?”

Sherlock grinned at Bethany’s dazed expression, and then at Hiccup. “The lady wished to leave my employment with happy memories, Master Hiccup, and I am simply honouring her request.”

Hiccup considered the two of them, and could only feel sorry for Bethany. “Ehm, isn’t that a bit callous?”

Sherlock shrugged. “The alternative is to see her mope around for three weeks. I much prefer this state of affairs.” He ran his nails softly over her neck and she moaned quietly, happy to concentrate on the sensations he was causing rather than on the conversation that just reminded her of her inevitable fate. Hiccup kept his thoughts to himself as he shook his head and returned his attention to the book he was reading, trying to ignore the fact that Sherlock had now run his hands under Bethany’s shirt and was exploring her skin as he kissed her neck, causing her to lose her focus altogether as her body responded to his touch, struggling to suppress the moans that were welling up in her throat. As Sherlock began to rub his thumbs over both her nipples she could not suppress a curse as she gasped, and Hiccup looked back up in exasperation, first at Bethany’s thoroughly incoherent state, then at Sherlock. “Do you mind, Sherlock? I’m finding it a bit hard to concentrate.”

Sherlock gave him a sly smile. “It’s my room, Master Hiccup.”

Hiccup sighed as he took the hint and stood up, closing his book with a resounding snap. Instead of walking off straight away he went over to Sherlock’s chair first, though, shaking his head once more at Bethany before bending down, taking her face in his hands and kissing her with conviction and without any haste. When he broke off she was gasping and Sherlock chuckled as Hiccup said, “There you go, one to add to the collection.” Then he walked out, taking his book with him, as Sherlock said quietly, “Now, what a complete shame that we did not convince Master Hiccup to forego his honourable principles. We could have had fun together,” as he returned to kissing her neck, sending her thoughts into previously uncharted territory which had her moan and him chuckle.

He ran a long hand underneath her skirt, the other one still stroking her breast, and as he did so he put his mouth near her ear and began to speak softly to her, his deep voice describing in great detail scenarios that might be explored with two lovers. She found her mind being taken over by images that she would never have dared contemplate while her body bucked under his touch, quite out of control with the things he was describing to her, and she was only vaguely aware when he hitched up her skirt further and undid his breeches, all the while keeping his narrative going as he penetrated her slowly to her gasps and moans.

She felt her body and mind being overloaded as he moved inside her, tying his actions to the story as she began to find it hard to distinguish fact from fiction, and as he put two fingers on her lips, describing how she might pleasure another man with her mouth while being taken by the first she lost it, running her tongue over his fingertips and taking them in as the tale overtook her and she came in a daze. He held her with his other arm, slowly moving his hand in and out of her mouth as he rode her waves and she sucked his fingers, no longer caring for what was real and what was imagined. When she was spent she turned around and looked at him in awe, quite unable to find the words to describe her experience. He grinned in delight at her reaction as he lifted her off him, and she saw that he had not reached his own climax yet, his hardness wet with her juices and eager for release. Without further thought she kneeled down to address that omission, taking him deep into her mouth and giving back with as much relish as he had given to her until she had him gasping, his fingers tangled in her short hair, her hands under his shirt, digging her nails into his skin as he exploded inside her mouth.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup provokes an unexpected reaction, and we learn the reason for Sherlock's grief.

As the days went on autumn undeniably progressed, the temperatures suddenly dropping and the winds freshening, and Bethany found it more and more difficult to keep her spirits up, regardless of Sherlock’s attentions. One afternoon she drifted into Hiccup’s workshop feeling lost, and he greeted her kindly and said, “I’ve got something for you.”

Standing on the side of one of the workbenches was a beautiful pair of sheepskin boots, rugged and sturdy and practical, and he picked them up with a sheepish grin and gave them to her, saying, “I thought I’d give you a slightly more practical happy memory, Bethany. They should hopefully last you a few winters. If they fit, that is. I hope I got your size right.”

The boots were perfect, with just enough space for an extra pair of socks in the worst of the weather and she was delighted with them, thanking Hiccup a hundred times until he became embarrassed. Rubbing the back of his neck in the awkward silence that followed he said, “Ehm, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you know what Sherlock’s plans are yet?”

She shook her head, dreading the turn the conversation was taking. “No Sir. I know he spoke to Ranald about taking me on, but he hasn’t said anything about it since. I...,” she shook her head, finding it difficult to get the words out, “I don’t want to go anywhere, Sir. It’s not that I’m scared of going, not anymore. But I can’t leave him. I love him too deeply, I couldn’t bear to be without him. I know I shouldn’t feel like this after everything that’s happened, but I’m afraid it will kill me. I couldn’t see the point in carrying on if I’m not with him.”

Hiccup regarded her seriously. “Bethany, he almost killed you. Surely that’s reason enough to want to go, to stay safe. If it wasn’t for Ranald you might not even be alive anymore.”

She shook her head, thinking that he never had asked her for the full story, and said, “No, Sir. Master Sherlock didn’t kill me because I asked him to stop. He had already released me by the time Master Ranald turned up. It, ehm...,” she chose her words carefully, wondering why Sherlock had omitted to mention this, and continued, “It was not as straightforward as he would have you believe, Sir. And I don’t know why he refrained from telling you that.”

Hiccup looked very thoughtful at this, wondering the same himself. Then he said, “It probably makes for an easier story, Bethany, if we all believe he might kill you if you stayed here. He’s rather good at spreading his own reputation as callous and heartless, but I do wonder.” He sighed, and added, “Let me speak to him. But don’t expect miracles.”

She thanked him once more and made to leave, not daring to hope and reminding herself of all the other times Hiccup had tried to change Sherlock’s mind and failed. Then another thought occurred to her, and she turned back to him. “Sir, Master Ranald told me that Master Sherlock loved me. He said he could see it as clear as daylight, and Master Sherlock never denied it. I, ehm...,” she thought again, “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. But it has bothered me greatly.”

Hiccup frowned at her thoughtfully. “No... no. You probably shouldn’t have. I wonder if he even recognises the emotion for what it is, though. Or maybe it just isn’t important to him... Oh.” He looked at her face creasing up as his words hit home. “Sorry, Bethany, I was just thinking aloud. I’m trying to understand where he’s coming from, that’s all. Not saying you’re not important... Oh boy.”

He took her arm and pulled her into a hug, saying, “Shutting up now,” as she laughed through her tears at his awkwardness, grateful that he was trying to help her.

\--oOo-- 

After dinner that night Hiccup went straight in as Bethany stood in the corner to serve drinks, nervous of what the confrontation might bring. “Sherlock, can I talk to you?”

Sherlock looked at him warily and replied, “It depends what about.”

With a sigh, Hiccup said, “I think you know what it’s about, Sherlock. It’s Bethany. Now, I know you will tell me it’s none of my business, but I am talking to you as her friend.”

Looking more closed than ever, Sherlock said, “Your point being?”

Hiccup thought carefully about his next words, as it was clear he was treading on very thin ice. “Ehm, is there any way to convince you to keep her here?”

Sherlock looked darkly at Hiccup, and then at Bethany. There was anger in his voice when he said, “I don’t appreciate being ganged up on by visitors and staff, Master Hiccup. The answer is no, and she knows it.” He stood up and made to leave the room, but Hiccup called after him. “Sherlock, wait.”

Sherlock stopped in the doorway and turned round with a face like thunder. Bethany pressed herself further into the corner, wishing Hiccup would back off, but instead he made a last-ditch effort. “She loves you, Sherlock. She loves you more than life itself even after everything that you’ve done to her, and you just throw that away? Does it even mean _anything_ to you?”

Sherlock didn’t respond but just glared at Hiccup in cold anger. Bethany wondered if Hiccup had a death wish when he added, quietly, “You know, I don’t think you’d even recognise the feeling if it hit you, Sherlock. I don’t believe you’ve ever loved anyone in your life.”

If he had been out for a reaction, he certainly got one. Sherlock turned white with rage, and spat at him, “Don’t talk to me about love, boy, because you have _no idea_ what you are talking about.” He glared at Hiccup a second longer and Bethany thought for a moment he would go for him, but then he abruptly turned round and stormed off, down the hallway and out the front, slamming the door behind himself so hard it almost came off its hinges.

Hiccup and Bethany looked at each other in shock a moment, and then Bethany ran to follow Sherlock. Hiccup chased her down the hallway and caught her arm, making her stop as she tried to get away from him, looking agitated. “Bethany, stop,” he implored her, “You don’t know what he’ll do if you find him. He might finish the job yet.”

Bethany shook her head, tugging her arm free. “No, Sir. I must go after him. He’s upset, and I think I know why.”

\--oOo--

Hiccup watched her go with trepidation as she ran across the courtyard and out of the gates, having a good inkling that Sherlock had not gone down to the harbour but had taken the steep path to the left instead, all the way to the top of the island. She was right, his fresh footprints were clear in the mud of the rarely used track, and she followed the path he had taken as quickly as she could. It was a long way up, and by the time she got to the little clearing at the end of the path she was out of breath with the effort.

She’d only been here once before and it had been dark then, but now she looked at the clearing with surprise. For all its remote location it was well kept, the grass short, the trees kept at bay, and there were flowers planted at the foot of the green mound where Sherlock sat hunched over, looking a picture of misery. Bethany blanched as she suddenly realised what this place was, and she made her way very carefully to Sherlock, who had either not noticed her approach or cared not. When she got to him she gently put her fingertips on his shoulder, trying to contain her tears, ready to back off should he react violently, but he looked up at her with a face filled with desperation, looking so thoroughly lost that she sank down next to him and pulled him to her. He clutched onto her as he cried uncontrollably, and she held him as best she could as her own tears flowed, finally beginning to grasp the depth of his pain.

\--oOo-- 

“She was fierce, Bethany,” Sherlock said, looking up at the darkening sky as he lay on his back on the green mound, having slowly regained some calm as she held him. Bethany sat next to him in the grass, watching his tear-streaked face as he raked up his memories of the lover that was buried beneath them. “We sailed to Spain one year, where the summers are hotter than you can imagine, and winter barely exists, and we raided the traders’ ships and lived well off the spoils. One day we came to a small coastal village where we met strong resistance, and we went in in broad daylight to make a point and practically razed the place to the ground. Irene came walking out of the burning rubble of the buildings with her head held high, her hair as black as a raven and her eyes blazing, and demanded we take her with us, never once looking back.” He smiled at the memory of this bright spark entering his life, and Bethany could picture it, the two of them as ruthless and exotic as each other, and it would have been perfect.

“The men adored her, and nobody ever attempted to lay a finger on her.” He chuckled through his sadness, and added, “They wouldn’t have lasted long if they’d tried. She fought like a wild cat and quickly became one of the most feared members of my crew. She had no scruples.”

He fell quiet a moment, staring into the sky as Bethany watched his face, and he didn’t mention anything to her when he saw Toothless cross the clearing silently, Hiccup’s face briefly looking down to make sure they were both OK. The dragon did not return, and Sherlock continued, “I courted her for months before she relented, and even then she always kept me on my toes.” He looked at Bethany and sighed. “I loved her, Bethany, more than anything in the world. She was my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night, and I would have gladly died for her had she asked me to. Our fights were legendary, and the lovemaking... Ah, we were something else.” He shook his head, revisiting fond memories as he looked back to the sky, and continued, “We were inseparable, and undefeated, and when I retired she stayed with me here, on the island, even though she hated the weather and the remoteness of it. I tried to make her as comfortable as I could and we were happy, for a time.”

He fell silent then, and Bethany dreaded to ask what had happened, fearing that the answer would be pure agony. Sherlock propped himself up until he was sitting and sighed as he looked at her. “She was dead in childbirth within the year. The child...” he gestured to a tiny mound that she had not even noticed before, placed a small distance away and kept just as neatly, “The child died after a few days, being too tiny to survive on her own. I could not save them, Bethany, but I tried. By Thor, I tried.”

He looked at her as if expecting some kind of judgement, almost as if he wanted her to be disappointed with him for failing to save these lives that were so dear to him, to blame him in some way for causing the death of his lover. Instead she shook her head and pulled him to her, simply telling him how sorry she was over and over again, unable to put her sadness into any other words, stroking his hair and kissing his face as he cried.

After he calmed down Sherlock lay back on the mound, and staring into space he began a low song in a language that she did not know. The melody was sad and beautiful and she did not need to understand the words in order to know it as the lament it was. Bethany made to lay down next to him, but he put his arm around her as she did so and she ended up lying with her head on his chest, feeling his deep voice reverberate as he sang his grief.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock accepts a deal.

They returned to the house in the pitch dark, stumbling their way down the little path awkwardly towards the lights that Hiccup had lit in the house. It lightened their spirits somewhat, as it was hard to keep a straight face as they skidded down the slope together in places, holding onto each other in order to keep their balance. When they got to the gates of the courtyard Sherlock stopped and looked at Bethany, pushing her short hair away from her face. “Thank you,” he said as he kissed her forehead, and she found nothing to say in return but simply took his hand as they walked back to the house together.

Hiccup was still awake and greeted them cautiously as they came through the door. Sherlock returned the greeting a little stiffly, and then said, “Apologies for my little outburst, Master Hiccup, but you touched a rather raw nerve.”

Hiccup shook his head. “No, no. It’s me who should be apologising. I’m really sorry, Sherlock. I had no idea.”

\--oOo-- 

Sherlock called for drinks, and the men retired to the study while Bethany went to fetch one of the last bottles of the previous year’s mead and two glasses. Sherlock frowned at her for excluding herself, and they sat all together on the hearth rug in front of the fire as Sherlock briefly told Hiccup the same tale he had told Bethany, calmer this time but no less heartfelt. Hiccup apologised again, but Sherlock said, “I vowed I would never be put in that position again, Master Hiccup. It might explain my attitude to the current conundrum somewhat.” He passed Bethany his glass of mead and she drank half of it without thinking, welcoming its warm glow as it hit her.

Hiccup watched her a moment and sighed. “But she does love you, Sherlock, and it seems cruel to discount that.”

Sherlock shook his head. “It is an infatuation, Master Hiccup, and one that I have encouraged as it suits my purposes. But I am twenty years her senior and she needs to be with her peers. It wouldn’t take her a couple of weeks to forget about me if I sent her to Ranald’s base, or to Berk for that matter. I am not concerned.”

It was a good thing that the mead had numbed Bethany’s senses somewhat, because she had not the energy left to be upset at his complete dismissal of her feelings. Under her breath she muttered, “You’re fucking _wrong_ , Sir,” not realising that the alcohol had impeded her judgment and the statement came out louder than intended, hanging in the air for all to examine.

\--oOo--

Hiccup was the first to speak, smiling as Bethany coloured and Sherlock looked at her with amusement. “You know, Sherlock,” he said, carefully, “That would be easy enough to prove either way. I could take Bethany to Berk when I go, and all you need to do is come by after a couple of weeks. If you’re right she can stay with us, but if you’re wrong then I would ask you for her sake to take her back with you.”

Sherlock considered the proposal, swilling the mead around in his glass as he thought. Eventually he asked, “And would Berk pay me?”

Hiccup looked at him with incredulity, shaking his head at the fact that Sherlock would even factor this in. “I’m sure we could come to some arrangement, if it’s so important to you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It may weigh on my decision.” He looked at his glass once more and seemed to reach a conclusion, downing the remainder of the drink before saying, “Fine. But I will expect fair payment.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes but said nothing, instead asking, “And you will allow her to stay with you if you are proved wrong?”

Sherlock sighed, clearly not happy to be pushed into a corner. “I will consider it, Master Hiccup. But I won’t be wrong. I’ve been here before a few times.”

\--oOo-- 

The day of their departure dawned cold and bright, with a chill in the air that hinted of the coming frosts. Bethany had packed her meagre belongings in a backpack that Sherlock had given her, and had got dressed in the warmest clothes she could find, thankful for Hiccup’s boots that would at least keep her feet warm. There had been a tatty dark blue woollen cloak in the clothes that she had been given, and she had put it on, scolding herself for being too distracted in the last few weeks to darn the moth holes that it was showing everywhere. As she stood on the courtyard wondering how cold it might be above the clouds, thinking she was going to make a fine first impression on Hiccup’s home island, Sherlock came out of the house carrying a bundle of fabric.

He stopped in front of her, frowning at the moth-eaten cloak, and said, “That will not do at all. Take it off.”

He took the bundle he was carrying by a corner when she had done so, allowing it to unfold into a beautiful thick tan cloak with a large hood, lined with sheepskin around the edges. Like all the clothes that Sherlock kept in his room it was an exceptional thing of considerable value, and Bethany was ready to refuse it when Sherlock put it around her with a flourish, saying, “It’s just hanging in a wardrobe, Bethany, and I’d rather see it worn. Besides, it will stop you catching your death of cold.” When he had fastened it around her shoulders he stood back and looked at her with a melancholy expression a moment, without doubt remembering she who had worn this before. Then he smiled, and said, “She never did have anything but the very best. Look after it for me.”

She promised and thanked him, feeling a little embarrassed that she should arrive on Berk dressed like a queen but with nothing to her name. It would be difficult to explain who she was, she thought, and realised she hadn’t thought at all about what she was going to say to people and that the whole idea of meeting an island full of strangers filled her with dread, having been too focused on the fact that she would be leaving at all. As Hiccup arrived with Toothless Sherlock took off Bethany’s collar, making her feel even stranger, but he said, “I think you’ll have enough questions to answer without having to worry about that one.” Then he kissed her forehead and gently turned her towards Hiccup, and she climbed onto the dragon in a daze as things moved far too quickly, belatedly realising she might never return to this place.

After Hiccup and Sherlock exchanged their goodbyes they were off with a leap and a single beat of the dragon’s great wings, and Bethany watched Sherlock’s island disappear below them with a feeling of detachment, unwilling to accept that she was really leaving. As they made their way through the thin cloud, bursting out into the glorious cold sunshine after a moment, all she could hang onto was the thought that two weeks was no time at all, even though she found it hard to convince herself of the truth of it, and she knew full well that it came with no guarantees.


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany comes to Berk.

As it was, Bethany need not have worried about the reception that awaited her on Berk. Hiccup simply introduced her as a friend who was staying for a couple of weeks, and most people accepted this explanation without further question. One of the exceptions was Hiccup’s father and the island’s chief, Stoick, who knew of her situation and welcomed her most kindly. As Hiccup introduced her, Stoick’s second in command, a large man called Gobber who had a peg leg and half an arm missing, took one glance at the tattoo on Bethany’s wrist and said, “How’d ye escape, luvvie? Are we hidin’ ye?”

Bethany blushed and pulled her sleeve back over her arm, not realising that anyone might know what it meant. “I... ehm,” she stammered, “Master Sherlock gave me some time off, Sir.”

Gobber’s eyebrows shot up until they nearly touched his helmet. “Did he now? Well, that’s unusual, to say the least.” He looked her over a minute, and she thought that for all his grotesque manner he was much more clever than he looked. “Och well,” he said, eventually, “Any problems, come an’ find me.”

\--oOo-- 

After the awkward meeting Hiccup took her aside. “Listen, Bethany. You’re going to have to drop the Sir business. It’s not going to take people very long to work out your background if you don’t.” Bethany nodded, biting her lip. “You’re right, Sir. I’ll try... Oh.” She looked back at him, and added, “This isn’t going to be easy, is it.”

Hiccup smiled. “You’ll manage, I’m sure. Come on, let’s meet some of my friends.”

\--oOo-- 

The other exception to the group of people that welcomed Bethany without further concerns was Astrid. She’d been less than impressed when Hiccup had arrived home with his passenger, and she made no secret of the fact that she didn’t believe Hiccup’s cover story for Bethany. When Hiccup had introduced Bethany to his group of friends Astrid took the two of them aside. Crossing her arms and looking completely cynical, she said, “So, what’s a random young girl like your ‘friend’ doing hanging around on Sherlock’s island, Hiccup? He’s a notorious recluse. He doesn’t _keep_ company.”

Hiccup went red. “Listen, Astrid, it’s complicated. I, ehm, I’m helping Bethany out a bit. She’s had a really rough time of it and she needs a break. It would help if you could be nice to her.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes as she looked at Bethany, giving her a foul glare. Bethany’s first reaction was to reach for Hiccup’s hand, but she thankfully checked herself and took the hem of her cloak instead, running her fingers over the sheepskin trim in a nervous gesture as Astrid said, “You seem far too comfortable around my boyfriend, Bethany. I hope to the Gods you two aren’t hiding anything.”

Bethany looked at her with big eyes, realising that Hiccup might have been right when he said his fiancée would kill him, and becoming rapidly convinced that she might get included in that particular murder. Feeling like she should say something back, she stammered, “He... Hiccup saved my life, Astrid. I’m very grateful to him.” It only made Astrid’s eyes narrow further, as she said, “I’m sure you are.” Then she stormed off, and Hiccup had no other choice but to give Bethany an apologetic look and follow after her.

\--oOo-- 

In the days that followed Bethany made sure to keep her distance from Hiccup, not wishing to be the source of any further trouble. On his part, Hiccup spent most of his time with Astrid, clearly feeling the need to make amends and to catch up on time lost. Bethany wondered how much he told her, because Astrid’s stance appeared to soften a little as time went on, going from open hostility to mere coolness whenever she was faced with Bethany. Bethany couldn’t blame her, thinking she’d probably have had much the same reaction in the situation, and she made a point of being pleasant to Astrid regardless.

The remainder of Hiccup’s friends provided her with plenty of distraction, however. At first she had not been sure about Snotlout, who to her appeared brash and arrogant, but his outrageous boasts frequently made her laugh and it was clear that the rest of the group had the measure of him. He made every attempt to impress her, and she couldn’t hide her amusement at this because the contrast with Sherlock, who had never needed to resort to this kind of thing as he was impressive enough just being himself, couldn’t be greater. But she humoured Snotlout, and in return he took her for rides on his dragon Hookfang, and told her fantastic stories of his heroic deeds which made her laugh.

As for the twins, they were every bit as daft as Hiccup had described them and Bethany quickly realised that the stories he had told her had been no exaggerations. How they had managed to stay alive for this long she couldn’t fathom, and she watched their frankly idiotic antics with awe, wondering how much longer it would be before they seriously damaged themselves and only a little jealous of their utterly carefree outlook on life.

But, out of all the friends in the group of dragon riders, Bethany quickly fell in with Fishlegs and his little dragon Meatlug, taking an instant liking to his friendly manner and his deep knowledge of the dragons around them. And dragons there were, by the score. She couldn’t believe that the islanders lived with the ferocious creatures so happily, treating them as pets or valued partners, the dragons helping them with their work or merely keeping them company. Fishlegs spent hours taking her around the place, introducing her to the different types of dragon that people were keeping, explaining their defences and their special skills. Bethany was mesmerised, trying to remember everything that he told her although his knowledge was so encyclopaedic that she could only hope to retain a fraction of it. After a couple of nights of staying in Stoick’s house, where she felt self-conscious due to Hiccup’s presence and all the wrong conclusions that Astrid might jump to, she moved to Fishlegs’ family home, and he provided her with a pile of furs and a quiet corner and neither Fishlegs nor his family ever once gave any indication that they thought it odd that she should choose to stay with him. They welcomed her without question and it made her feel at home more than she would care to admit.

\--oOo-- 

Her respect for the skill of the little group of dragon riders only increased when she saw them on their dragons. Fishlegs generously allowed her to ride along with him on Meatlug on a number of forays, and for all the silly antics of the twins and Snotlout she realised that when they all pulled together they were a force to be reckoned with. It was clear that Hiccup had complete trust in his team, understanding where their strengths lay maybe better than they did themselves. He had an innate knack for bringing out the best in them with a quiet confidence that was rarely heavy handed, and she remembered Sherlock calling him a future leader of men and dragons and could only agree with his observation. He was in his element here, and there was a freedom to him that had not shone through as brightly when he had been on Sherlock’s island, only at those times when he had flown out on Toothless with her and she now realised that he, too, had to a point been beholden to the master of the house.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany meets a new friend.

The days passed in relative peace, and it gave Bethany plenty of time to think. She mulled over Sherlock’s assertion that she would forget about him in a couple of weeks, and while it was clear that that was a ridiculous statement she began to wonder what life on Berk would be like if she were made to stay. It was obvious that she could be comfortable on the island, and that she could find a purpose and maybe even happiness here over time, and she began to tell herself that maybe it was for the best, and that maybe Sherlock was right, she was better off away from him. She could be free here, and safe, and amongst a large number of friendly folk – things she was almost guaranteed would not be hers if she stayed with him.

While these thoughts appeared sensible in the clear light of day, at night she tossed and turned on her furs, feeling lost and homesick, and when she finally fell into a disturbed sleep her dreams would find her on the Storm Petrel, or in Sherlock’s bed, and she would wake up disorientated and more often than not either aroused or upset. One morning Fishlegs came to wake her early and found her crying, and instead of asking any questions he took her hand and sat by her, looking at her with concern and sympathy until she had calmed down. When she had wiped away the last of her tears, he said, “Are you alright, Bethany? I, um, eh, I wanted to show you something. But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

She nodded at him, and said, “It’s OK, Fishlegs. It’s nothing I can do anything about. To be honest any distraction is good.”

They went out on Meatlug and Fishlegs flew them around the island just as the late September sun began to rise above the horizon. It was cold and foggy and Bethany was grateful for her cloak and boots, thinking they would be lifesavers during winter. Fishlegs steered them to a thin strip of beach by the edge of a small woodland and quietly gestured for her to dismount as he did the same. Then he crept into the trees as she followed him, curious as to what he was about to show her. Their silent progress was unfortunately rudely interrupted by Meatlug crashing through the undergrowth to be with them, and Fishlegs frantically gestured for her to be silent as he looked around him for whatever it was they had come here for. As it was, there was nothing to see.

Fishlegs sat down on a mossy knoll and sighed, stroking Meatlug in a resigned manner. The dragon grumbled contentedly, unaware of any trouble she may have caused, and Bethany smiled as Meatlug rolled on her back with a big grin. Even Fishlegs was unable to keep a straight face, and they sat for a while just watching the silly creature roll about the ground in between the trees as the day slowly dawned.

Just as they were about to leave Bethany thought she saw movement from the corner of her eye. When she looked around it was gone, but Fishlegs also looked intently at the place that she thought she had seen something, putting a finger on his lips. They sat in total quiet staring at the undergrowth, and she almost began to believe she was imagining things when the bushes moved again.

Underneath the lowest leaves of the shrub that she was staring at a small yellow nose appeared, sniffed twice, and was followed by a little face with big eyes and tiny horns. Bethany watched in fascination as a little dragon slowly crept from under its shelter and sat down just in front of the bush, blinking at them.

Even Bethany could identify the little creature as a Terrible Terror, but this one was smaller than any of the ones that she’d seen around the village of Berk, and unusually coloured bright yellow with darker orange wings and spikes. “It’s only a baby,” Fishlegs whispered behind her, and the little dragon’s eyes shot across to him at the sudden sound as it jumped up and took a nervous step backwards.

Bethany thought the little creature was more than adorable. Its nervousness reminded her a little of her own in the face of the strangers she had met in the past months, and Ranald’s _little bird_ suddenly didn’t seem so incongruous to her anymore. This tiny thing was just like a little frightened bird, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Without thinking about it she carefully put her hand out to see if the animal would come closer and it looked at her curiously.

For long moments the two of them sat staring each other out, neither willing to make the next move. Bethany was mesmerised by the clear intelligence in the dragon’s eyes, considering her very thoroughly, and she smiled at it encouragingly as it thought about approaching her. Fishlegs sat as still as a rock and even Meatlug had stopped moving altogether, just letting out a very low, contented rumble as she lay and watched the events unfold. It seemed to Bethany that time had momentarily stopped.

Eventually, very cautiously, the little dragon took a step towards her hand and sniffed again. Finding her no threat it moved slowly once more, stretching out its head low to the ground in caution, ready to turn and run if necessary. Bethany sat frozen as the distance between the dragon and her outstretched hand slowly lessened until the tiny creature was within her reach. Still she sat, afraid to break the magic of the moment should she move, marvelling at the closeness of this little colourful thing, barely daring to breathe. Then the dragon took one more look at her face, blinked in final consideration, and put its nose to her hand.

Bethany sat in utter amazement, staring at this little creature that had chosen to put its trust in her, unable to find any other thing to say to it but a very quiet, “Thank you.” The little dragon blinked at her, letting out a contented little squeak, and then suddenly jumped up along her arm and onto her shoulder, where it sat and nudged her head. Both Bethany and Fishlegs laughed unwittingly, and she could feel the dragon’s claws digging into her shoulder as it nervously worked out whether this sound was safe or not, but it stayed where it was.

Bethany reached up and carefully lifted the dragon off her shoulder, putting it into her lap to have a closer look at it as Fishlegs came over. The dragon blinked at Fishlegs but didn’t run, although it put its head down again and hissed a little, a funny sound coming from such a small thing. Bethany smiled and stroked its head, telling it that Fishlegs was a friend, and after a moment it settled and regarded the two of them curiously.

“Well,” Fishlegs said, “Looks like you’ve got yourself a new friend. I didn’t think it would come out, you know, I’ve been stalking and feeding these guys for weeks, I reckon the mum abandoned them, or something happened to her, because she hasn’t been around at all. There’s a few more in there, but this little guy was by far the smallest that I saw. Funny colouration. Any idea what you’re going to call him?”

It all went a bit quickly for Bethany, and she watched the dragon turning nervous circles in her lap, reflecting her own unsettledness. “Fidget,” she said after a moment, after it had sunk in that the little animal was going to become a feature in her life. “He’s not ever going to sit still, is he.”


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany learns more about her new friend, and time passes quickly, pressing for decisions.

The days now took a whole different turn for Bethany, because Fidget was very much a baby and still needed to learn most things about being a dragon, let alone how to interact with humans. In order to help her Fishlegs teamed her up with Gothi, the village wise woman, who had a whole flock of Terrible Terrors and seemed happy enough to share some time with Bethany and her new friend. While she did not speak she had a beautiful way with the little dragons, and soon enough Fidget settled in with her group and Bethany learned to interpret their chirps and growls as she spent time with them.

She was surprised to find that even a dragon this size could breathe fire, and accurately at that, and took great delight in training Fidget to target objects on demand, thinking it might come in handy for him one day. As to what the future for her and her new companion now held she dared not contemplate, as it added a whole layer of complication to her deliberations – she could not fathom a scenario in which Sherlock would allow her to take Fidget with her to his island, while at the same time the thought of having to leave him behind filled her with great sadness. The more the days went by, the more she became convinced that the easiest way out of the whole mess would be for her to stay on Berk.

While there were plenty of things to keep her spirits up during the day, in the evenings she became more and more downcast and eventually Fishlegs sat next to her one evening in front of the fire in his family home, and looked at her a little awkwardly. He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, and then said, “Ehm, Bethany, I, eh, I can’t help but notice that you’re upset nearly every night, and I’ve asked Hiccup but he won’t tell me what this is all about, and I just wanted to say that you can talk to me if you want to.”

He went red after he said it, clearly relieved to have got the words out in one go, and Bethany looked at him and thought she had been a little unfair on him, accepting his hospitality and his friendship and all his efforts to cheer her up whenever she looked a little down, and not telling him the truth about her situation. On the other hand, she didn’t want to cause any trouble for herself in the village, so she thought long and hard before she asked him, “Can you keep a secret, Fishlegs?”

He nodded, looking very serious, and she thought that what she was about to tell him really wasn’t that momentous, wondering if the mundanity of it wouldn’t disappoint him. So she smiled, and said, “It wouldn’t be a big deal in many places, Fishlegs, but the truth is that Ma...,” she stopped, thinking this was awkward, because she’d never referred to Sherlock as anything but her master and it seemed disrespectful to do anything different now, even though he wasn’t there. After a moment’s consideration she shrugged and carried on, “Master Sherlock bought me, Fishlegs, in order to look after the house while Hiccup was staying with him, and for... other duties. I’m not a free person. I’m only staying here while he makes his mind up about what to do with me next.”

Fishlegs looked at her in awe, wondering vaguely what ‘other duties’ entailed. “I, eh, ehm, I’m sorry, Bethany, that’s awful,” he said in the end. She shrugged after having thought it over a moment. “I was happy being with him, you know, and I tried everything I could to convince him to keep me. Hiccup tried to help, too, but it’s been left hanging in the air until Master Sherlock turns up in a few days.”

Fishlegs stared at her. “He’s coming _here_?”

“Yeah,” Bethany said, vaguely wondering why Fishlegs looked so stunned. “Does he not visit? He sounded like he knew Berk quite well.”

“Ehm...” Fishlegs said, twiddling his thumbs. “He came once, when Hiccup first found his island. He... ehm, he delivered Hiccup and Toothless back all tied up and wrapped in a bundle and told Stoick that if anyone from Berk ever trespassed on his home again he would personally see to it that they did not survive the experience. As far as I know that’s the only time. I know that Stoick had long discussions with him then, and also that he went over there a few times, and they reached some agreement and have obviously become friendly over time. But he’s never visited as a guest, so to speak.”

Bethany couldn’t help but smile, realising that she never did ask Hiccup about the story of how the people from Berk got friendly with Sherlock, and she wondered if he would have told it to her as truthfully as Fishlegs had done. How Sherlock had managed to overpower both Hiccup and the Nightfury baffled her, but then she figured that with the element of surprise she wouldn’t put anything past him. The image of Hiccup being subjected to Sherlock’s expert ropework skills had her giggling involuntarily and Fishlegs looked at her questioningly, wondering what was so funny. “Ehm,” Bethany said, still smiling, “I was just wondering what the ropework was like. Sorry, Fishlegs. I assume he just tied him up quickly.”

Fishlegs shook his head. “Well, to be truthful, I’ve never seen anything like it. It must have taken him hours to do it, he’d made all these intricate patterns and things all over them both. Hiccup was absolutely terrified of even the mention of him for months afterwards. We couldn’t speak about ropes for a while either, and the twins thought it was hysterical. It got a bit ugly, to be honest. It was only when Stoick took Hiccup with him to see Sherlock a couple of times that I think Hiccup lost the fear of him. Now he always speaks of him very highly.”

Fishlegs’ story certainly shed a whole new light on that part of Sherlock and Berk’s history, and Bethany was now not surprised that Hiccup had never volunteered the tale himself, and had always remained careful around Sherlock. She wondered how often he got into these kinds of trouble when he went out exploring alone, and concluded that it could only be a fairly regular occurrence, although Sherlock’s reaction was probably an extreme one. The tale put a smile on her face, and Fishlegs’ quiet sympathy made her feel better about her situation. For the first time since her arrival in Berk she slept well that night, and when she woke in the morning with Fidget curled up in her lap she had to conclude that things weren’t so bad, after all.

\--oOo-- 

On the last evening of the two weeks Hiccup came to find her. Fishlegs and the twins had taken her to the beach as she was clearly nervous as to what the new day might bring and it had made her downcast and fidgety, and they sat around the bonfire they had built roasting fish and telling outrageous stories as their dragons played about with the water and sand. Bethany didn’t say much, knowing full well that the stories she had to tell about her time with Sherlock were not appropriate for the audience, and finding that the exploits from her own youth on Sundvik paled in comparison with the adventures of the dragon riders. However, she enjoyed hearing the tales, however much embellished, and they kept her mind from returning to the question of Sherlock’s arrival and what might follow. She was just delightedly taking a fish off Fidget, who had been trying to catch her something all evening, when Hiccup sat down next to her. Astrid had come with him to the beach but she joined Fishlegs to discuss some dragon eggs she had found earlier in the day, and made a point of not listening in on Hiccup and Bethany’s conversation. Bethany wondered what had been said between those two, but she was thankful for the moment of privacy.

Hiccup smiled at her little dragon, and said, “So, you’re joining the dragon riders, then? We might struggle getting a saddle on him.”

Bethany smiled back at him, realising that she’d missed his company, and said, “I think I’ll relegate myself to ground troops, Si... ehm, Hiccup. He’s a pretty good shot, though.” She demonstrated the little trick that she had taught Fidget, pretending she hadn’t nearly fallen into her usual form of address, and the dragon gleefully shot down some stones that she threw up in the air. Hiccup was delighted. “Ground troops it is.”

He grew serious then, and studied her a moment before asking, “Seriously though, Bethany, have you made a decision?”

Bethany looked at her hands. “I haven’t, Sir. I know I could be happy here, I think that’s clear. And now I have Fidget it makes the decision even harder. Because I would go back to Master Sherlock in a flash if I had the chance, but I simply cannot see him accepting me bringing a dragon. I’m torn, Sir.”

Hiccup shook his head at her and said quietly, “Drop the _Sir_ thing, Bethany. It’s been two weeks. Surely that should have worn off by now.”

She stared at him, realising that in her mind it would probably never wear off, because that is how she knew him. Besides, she had barely seen him here and when she had he had been in command of his troops, so to speak, so to her it was the most natural thing in the world. But it seemed to bother him, so she said, “I’m sorry, Hiccup. I was distracted. It’s a mess, and I don’t know what to do.”


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Bethany is a tad overwhelmed and Ruffnut nearly makes a stupid mistake.

Bethany was up at the crack of dawn the next morning, recounting the marks on the calendar stick she had made for the purpose just be sure she had the right day. After the third count she concluded that yes, there were fourteen notches, and then she counted them again, just one more time. The number didn’t change and she went to get dressed, finding herself shaking already, wondering what on Earth to wear as she rejected several outfits and ending up on her bed in her nightdress in tears, stroking Fidget who was eyeing her with great concern.

Fishlegs found her like that, and he sat next to her and calmed her down, telling her that everything was going to be OK because whatever happened she would be with people that cared for her, and that to him she looked lovely whatever she wore and Sherlock should just be pleased to see her, scary pirate or no. While Bethany knew it wasn’t quite that simple she appreciated his calm words and the little bit of sense he brought into her day, and the fact he seemed to be girding his loins to defend her in some way. She gave him a hug and thanked him, and told him not to worry because she was used to dealing with Sherlock, although she sounded braver than she felt.

Once she was dressed she ate the smallest of breakfasts as her stomach was in knots, and then made her way to the top of the island where she sat down and waited, staring out across the sea in the direction that Hiccup and her had flown in on. After some time of running around the hill chasing insects Fidget sat down next to her, staring in the same direction and pretending to take an interest. It took the little dragon only a few minutes to decide that nothing was happening, and then he wandered off in search of his own amusement.

Hours passed and still there was no sign of Sherlock’s ship. On her hill Bethany was getting stiff and cold and kept telling herself that she should just go and find something to do, but every time she made the move to get up she thought she might just wait a few moments longer in case she saw a ship on the horizon. She couldn’t bear the thought of missing Sherlock’s arrival, or imagine his reaction if he should find her busily occupied with something else as if his visit was inconsequential, and so she stayed on the hill, staring fixedly in the direction of where she believed Sherlock’s island lay, and waited.

\--oOo--

By the time the early dusk began to fall she was cold to the core and starving, and she made her way back down to the village despondent and a little wobbly, and wondering where Fidget had got to. One final time she turned around to look at the harbour before heading back to Fishlegs’ home, wondering what had gone wrong, and got a shock when she saw the Storm Petrel rounding the far corner of the island, coming in from a completely different direction than she had expected. The sight of Sherlock’s relaxed figure at the helm made her freeze in her tracks, and she watched in complete trepidation as he let down the mainsail and calmly steered the ship into the harbour on the jib in a way that said he had done it a thousand times before.

\--oOo-- 

Fishlegs found her standing in the middle of the path as he made his way to the harbour, news of the new arrival having spread quickly through the village. He took her hand and made an effort to wake her from her turgid state, and found that her fingers were freezing cold and that she was shaking. In the end he simply pulled her forward, and she nearly tripped over her own feet before suddenly snapping back to the here and now and looking at Fishlegs in a fright. He looked at her with great concern, and said, “Bethany, you don’t look happy to see him.”

She looked back at him with wide eyes, and said, “I am, I really am, Fishlegs. And I’m terrified, too. You don’t know him, he’s like nobody you’ve ever met.”

She still wasn’t moving, so he gently tugged her along the path down to the harbour, watching her closely, clearly not comfortable with what he saw. As they went down they were joined by the twins and by Snotlout, who looked surprisingly nervous. Sherlock had just finished mooring the ship as they came to the quay, and he straightened up, shouldering a bag he had brought, and took in the little group a moment before focusing on Fishlegs and Bethany. Bethany couldn’t help but notice he had dressed for the occasion, looking very much the pirate captain, once more exotic and dangerous and distant and it brought back memories of when she had first seen him, adding to her nervousness.

Snotlout, Ruffnut and Tuffnut took a little step back as soon as Sherlock’s attention was off them, clearly happy to be out of the limelight, although Ruffnut quietly breathed, _“Oh my. There’s my ship.”_ Beside Bethany Fishlegs swallowed audibly, but Sherlock merely considered him a moment longer before he turned to Bethany.

“Bethany. I’m pleased to see you have picked brains over brawn.”

She’d been thinking of what to say to him all day, but as she stood before him she realised she had no words at all. In the two weeks she had been away she had apparently forgotten the easy way he took command of a situation, his catlike grace even when barely moving, the way she felt when he spoke her name in his deep voice, and most of all she had forgotten his eyes, clear pools all the colours of the sea that saw right through her. So she stood there speechless, almost drowning in his gaze until her knees felt weak.

Sherlock grabbed her just before her legs gave way and gave her a look of resigned disbelief before saying, “Spectacular as usual, Bethany,” and gently lowering her to the floor until she sat with her back to the quay wall, feeling faint and stupid. Sherlock turned to Fishlegs. “Has she eaten _at all_ today?”

Fishlegs opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then said, “Ehm, no I don’t believe so. Breakfast, maybe. I haven’t seen her all day.” When Sherlock’s stare turned into a frown, he added in a squeaky voice, “Sorry, Sir.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, kneeling down beside Bethany as he said, “You lot were meant to look after her.” Digging in his pocket he brought up a small knife, followed by a shiny red apple, and he proceeded to cut it into pieces for Bethany as he said, “Thankfully I came prepared.”

Meanwhile, Snotlout had sidled up to Fishlegs, whispering, “What did he mean, brains over brawn? Everybody knows I’m the brains around here. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Snotlout,” Tuffnut said behind him, “It may be something to do with the fact that Fishlegs can actually _read_. You read about as well as the chicken.” Next to her brother Ruffnut snorted. “Nah, the chicken reads _far_ better.”

Ignoring the heated argument that promptly broke out on the moorings, Sherlock gave Bethany the last piece of apple before putting his hand in his pocket once more and bringing up her collar. Without ceremony he fastened it around her neck and said quietly, “There, mine once more.”

She breathed a quiet _Thank you, Sir_ as he took her hand and made her stand up and she felt better, and although she was still nervous about what Sherlock’s visit might bring her life had returned to a normality that at least she knew, even though in this place it was likely to be met with outrage.

On that count she was right. She hadn’t stood up straight yet before Tuffnut registered what had just happened, and his jaw dropped. “No way. _No way._ You’re a _slave_ , Bethany? And you didn’t tell us? Why didn’t anyone tell us? Surely someone should have told us. Does Hiccup know? He must know.”

Snotlout looked hugely uncomfortable and turned to Fishlegs who just stood there twiddling his thumbs nervously, trying not to look sheepish. “Wait. You _knew_ about this, Fishlegs?”

Fishlegs gave the slightest of nods, looking very guilty, and Sherlock glanced briefly at Bethany. “You told him? That was brave.”

Bethany shrugged as Snotlout launched into a tirade at Fishlegs about honour and justice and the beastliness of slavery and keeping back essential information, and Fishlegs looked mortified. “Fishlegs has been very kind to me, Sir,” she said, feeling terrible for landing her friend into this situation.

Sherlock considered Fishlegs, who was looking more and more uncomfortable as Snotlout’s rant gathered momentum. Then he said, “That will do, young Master Snotlout. Master Fishlegs was merely protecting the lady’s confidence. It is not for you to chastise him for it. And if you feel the need to pick a quarrel about the principles of slavery I would be happy to meet you.”

Snotlout stared up at him, taking in Sherlock’s serious expression, his commanding stance that said he was quite prepared to settle the argument by force if necessary, briefly resting his eyes on the two rapiers by Sherlock’s side, and gulped.

Sherlock looked at him with a little dismissive smile, and then gave Bethany a little push in the small of her back and breezed past Snotlout, who stared after him in awe until he was some distance away. Then he said quietly, “Yeah, I’ll fight you, and I’ll win,” looking to see what reaction his words got from Fishlegs, but Fishlegs had already moved to catch up with Sherlock and Bethany, followed by Ruffnut who appeared to have her eyes firmly glued to Sherlock’s figure, and finally Tuffnut who was frowning at the whole thing. Realising that events had overtaken him, Snotlout shrugged and followed the group.

\--oOo-- 

They made their way into the village past little clumps of interested people, some of whom regarded Bethany with undisguised shock. It was shades of Sundvik all over again, she thought, wondering if the villager’s friendly attitude towards her would be irreparably damaged after this. She was distracted from her unhappy reverie by Ruffnut who sidled up to Sherlock, taking his sleeve as she said in a syrupy voice, “Hey Captain Sherlock, can I be your slave, too?”

Sherlock glanced sideways at her a moment, not even deigning her worthy of an eye roll. He never broke his stride as he shook her off his arm as if she was a minor irritation. Ruffnut, however, was not so easily put off. Once more she tugged on Sherlock’s sleeve, trying to slow him down. “Oh please, Captain Sherlock? I’ll be ever so good.”

Sherlock stopped abruptly, making Bethany almost run into him. Giving her a little bow, he said, “Apologies Bethany, I must deal with this.” Then he turned to Ruffnut, who stared at him in sudden awe as he brought the full force of his attention down on her, calmly regarding her face with his head tilted slightly back as he contemplated his response to her insolence. Behind them, the other three came to a sudden, nervous, stop.

Sherlock bent down, bringing his face close to Ruffnut’s, who swallowed nervously. His voice was very quiet and had a threatening edge as he spoke, and while Bethany could hear every word she wasn’t sure the other three could hear him as he said, “Miss Ruffnut Thorston, if you do not leave me to my business here, I shall have no other option but to take you up on your offer. Which means I will walk you back down to my ship, tie you to the mast and sail you out to sea away from your friends to a secluded spot, where I shall take you forcibly and repeatedly, virgin or no, until you beg me for mercy, which I shall ignore. Then I shall leave you to recover for a short while in my cabin before repeating the exercise, ensuring you will not be able to walk for several days, after which I will collar you, leaving Bethany here to enjoy her newly regained freedom, and you a life of domestic drudgery interspersed with brief moments of possibly painful ecstasy, old clothes, boring food, no friends, and no dragons. Or you can leave me alone. The choice is yours.”

Ruffnut went white and blinked at him, and then slowly turned to Bethany who was inwardly laughing, knowing almost for certain that Sherlock’s threat was so outrageous as to be purely for show, although in his case it was impossible to be completely sure. “He... He wouldn’t do that, would he?” Ruffnut stammered. Bethany looked back at her as gravely as she could manage, and answered, “No he would, Ruffnut, trust me,” leaving Ruffnut to fall back with a quiet whimper, making sure she kept close to her brother, Snotlout and Fishlegs.

Sherlock drew himself up to his full height again, heaved a satisfied sigh and carried on walking, looking serious and threatening as Bethany almost had to run to keep up with him, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eye as he gave her a sly wink, however serious his expression. Bethany struggled to suppress a grin as they walked, her chest almost bursting with love for this impossible man who was beholden to nobody, and it was easy to make the decision about her future then as she realised there had never really been a choice.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Astrid gets rather angry and Sherlock makes a point.

Hiccup came down to meet them as they neared the village hall, Toothless following close behind, Fidget perched on his shoulder. The little dragon gave a delighted squeak as it saw Bethany and flew straight to her, landing awkwardly in her hair before tumbling down onto her shoulder and staying there, looking a little ruffled. “He was with Gothi’s bunch, looking a bit lost,” Hiccup said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Bethany and she blushed as he said, “Didn’t take you long to go native, Bethany.”

“I, ehm...,” she stuttered, “He came to me, Sir.” Sherlock shook his head and addressed Hiccup instead, greeting him quite formally and asking after Stoick and when they could meet. Hiccup looked a little incredulous when he said, “It’s not a business transaction, Sherlock. Dad’s asking if you will come for dinner, and bring Bethany. We can talk after food.”

Snotlout and the twins seemed quite happy not to be invited to the meal, but Fishlegs dithered at the door of Stoick’s house, unwilling to leave Bethany alone but not brave enough to invite himself. Eventually Hiccup gestured him in, and Fishlegs made his way to the furthest end of the table quietly, earning him a raised eyebrow from Sherlock that made him blush but not leave.

\--oOo-- 

Dinner was a weird affair, with Stoick playing the welcoming host and Sherlock choosing the part of the awkward guest who answered questions in single syllables and refused most of the food. He made it clear he was keen to get down to business, but Stoick called his bluff and made sure he himself ate elaborately, serving Bethany thirds and taking his time over the last of the scraps on his plate. Sherlock announced that Bethany had had enough and moved her plate away even though she was still hungry, and she felt a little put out, especially because he knew she had barely eaten that day. As negotiating tactics went, Bethany thought, it amounted to warfare, and she wondered what they were both playing at. She tried to get some indication by looking across at Hiccup, who just raised his eyebrows in exasperation at the carry-on, and Fishlegs, who returned her gaze with big, worried eyes. It didn’t help Bethany or her nerves, and she was quietly shaking as they finally finished the meal and withdrew to the chairs by the fire, Fidget following her closely.

Sherlock made her sit down at his feet, which she thought was a little harsh since there were spare seats that she could just as easily have used, and the stone flags on the floor were cold. Hiccup picked him up on it, but Sherlock shrugged and said, “While she is still mine she will do as I say, Master Hiccup, and it is none of your business.”

Stoick shifted uncomfortably and seemed just about to say something when the front door of the house flew open and Astrid came storming in, sword drawn, looking furious. She marched straight up to Sherlock, took one disgusted look at Bethany and pointed her sword at her throat. “I knew it,” she hissed, “You were never just a _friend_ , Bethany, were you. Did you sleep with Hiccup? Did _he_ ,” she pointed at Sherlock, “make you sleep with him? Was that why you were there? Because if you did I swear I will kill you both.”

Bethany winced and shook her head, terrified. “I didn’t, I swear,” she whispered, trying to back away but finding the leg of Sherlock’s chair blocking her exit. Sherlock put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder and said, “Mistress Astrid, if you have any quarrel to pick it should not be with my unfortunate thrall. She only ever acted on my instructions.”

Astrid gave Bethany one more look of complete disgust and shifted her attention to Sherlock, lifting her chin as she pointed her sword at his throat instead, looking down the blade as she said, “Fine. You can answer the question then. Did you make Hiccup sleep with _that_?”

Sherlock regarded her calmly, seemingly completely unperturbed by the fact there was a sharp blade pointing at his carotid artery, and stretched his long legs out in front him quite insolently, making himself comfortable. He considered his answer a moment, and then said, “I did not, Mistress Astrid. You know as well as I do that Master Hiccup is headstrong and stubborn and cannot be made to do anything against his will. Try as I might I was unable to dissuade him from his honourable principles.”

Astrid was seething. “ _Try as you might?_ Are you saying you put _effort_ in to getting him to cheat on me?”

Sherlock looked smug. “Quite considerable effort, Mistress Astrid, and as I have said he remained tediously honourable and faithful to your good self. But it posed an interesting challenge.”

Astrid was momentarily speechless, and then said, outraged, “ _Why_ in the name of _all the Gods_ would you do such a thing?”

Sherlock gave her an amused look. “Because the boy is about to get married to a fair lady, and as far as I could make out he has no practical experience. I simply sought to give him some useful skills.”

On the other side of the fire Stoick choked on his drink as Hiccup quietly attempted to disappear into his chair. Astrid went bright red for a moment, and then turned white with rage. Narrowing her eyes at Sherlock, she hissed, “I’m going to kill you.”

Sherlock smiled at her, and said, “No, you won’t.” Then he moved, quick as a cat, knocking the sword out of Astrid’s hands with a long sweep of his arm while at the same time swinging his stretched-out legs across and knocking her off her feet. He was out of his chair before she’d properly lost her balance, grabbing her by the waist and shoulders as she fell and pushing her backwards onto the fireside rug, straddling her legs and pinning her arms above her head by the wrists before she had time to react. He grinned as she fought him for a moment, trying to break free of him but quite unable to move anything but her head, but he grew serious as she yielded and glared at him in breathless rage.

“Seven months, Miss Astrid,” he said, calmly, “For seven months I presented your fiancé with every opportunity to be unfaithful to you, reluctantly aided by the lovely Bethany, and not once did he dishonour himself. Now you should be proud of him, because his loyalty to you is unwavering, and if you find he has picked up some tips along the way you may blame me for wishing to show him things he knew nothing about. And you may also wonder,” Sherlock regarded her very closely, studying her reactions carefully as he lowered his voice, “if you yourself would have been _quite_ so honourable had the situation been reversed.”

Bethany watched as Astrid stared at Sherlock, her face slowly colouring as a knowing smile spread across his, and she knew exactly what Astrid felt like caught in that piercing gaze. He let her go then, sitting back in his chair as she scrambled to her feet blushing furiously. Reaching down to the floor he picked up her sword and presented it to her handle first. “You may apologise to Bethany for your unkind treatment of her, because she had no choice in the matter and does not deserve your blame.”

Astrid looked at Bethany as she sheathed her sword and for the first time Bethany saw a flicker of sympathy in the other girl’s eyes. Quietly, she said, “I’m sorry, Bethany, I can’t imagine what that was like.”

Bethany wasn’t sure what to say to that. Eventually she settled on, “Master Hiccup has been nothing but kind to me, Mistress Astrid.”

Astrid held her eye a moment and then sighed, taking the chair next to Hiccup who eyed her warily, expecting trouble. Instead, Astrid reached across and took his hand, entwining her fingers into his without ever looking at him as Sherlock turned to Stoick. “Shall we discuss business?”


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany makes a decision and Sherlock dismisses the idea out of hand.

Stoick had kept very quiet during the confrontation and now cleared his throat, eyeing Sherlock with considerable embarrassment as he said, “Right. Yes. Business.”

What followed was a conversation that Bethany would frequently wish to forget but never could. To hear her value being discussed in quantities of silver made her feel sick, and from their expressions it was clear that Hiccup, Astrid and Fishlegs felt the same. Stoick conducted the negotiations in a resigned fashion and Bethany wondered if he had been in this situation before, because he did not show any of the shock and disgust that she and the others felt although he was clearly uncomfortable about it. The whole thing seemed surreal, and she got caught up in it to such an extent that it took her a very long time to come back to the fact that she had chosen not to stay on Berk, and that nobody had asked her what her choice was. She suddenly felt cheated, and angry, as she listened to the cold words being spoken as if she was not in the room.

When Sherlock said, “I can’t accept that, Stoick, I could get at least half that again on the open market with her skills,” Bethany had had enough. She stood up silently, inwardly seething, and waited for somebody to indicate that it was OK for her to speak while considering what she was going to say. Fidget ran up her leg and settled on her shoulder, nudging her face with concern, and she clenched her jaw and tried not to break down.

The room went quiet, and Sherlock looked at her with amusement before saying, “Permission to speak, Bethany.” Across the room, Stoick grumbled quietly, “In my house, I should bloody well think so,” but Sherlock merely gestured to Bethany to make her point.

She blushed and looked down on the floor before saying, “With all due respect, Sirs, you are wasting your time.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and said, skeptically, “How so?”

She looked at him, pained at his indifference, and said, “Because I do not wish to stay on Berk, Sir. I wish to return with you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve told you before, Bethany, I have no further need of you. Besides of which, you seem quite happy here with your new friends and your pet. It won’t take you long to settle in, and you will be free.”

She got properly angry now. Time and again he had dismissed her feelings as inconsequential, but this time she wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t want that freedom, Sir. It would be a waste of Berk’s money, as I would only use it to travel back to your island. I’ve made my choice. I made it months ago.”

Sherlock shook his head dismissively, clearly trying to get back to the discussion with Stoick. “You wouldn’t even know where to go, Bethany. This discussion is pointless.”

She set her jaw, determined to see this argument through to the bitter end although his coldness cut her to the core. “I shall stow away on the Storm Petrel, Sir.”

He shrugged again. “I will find you, and I will punish you, and I will drop you back off here. That is an easy game to play.”

She shook her head, almost in tears now. “Master Hiccup will take me on Toothless.”

Sherlock suppressed a grin at that. “Master Hiccup would be very wise not to approach my island without permission, and he knows that.” Behind Bethany Hiccup blushed, revisiting uncomfortable memories. The other occupants of the room kept very quiet, watching the tense exchange closely as Bethany clutched at straws. “I will take a dragon myself, Sir, or a boat, and find my way.”

Sherlock looked at her seriously. “Thereby making Berk your enemy, if you didn’t die in the attempt. Not a wise choice.”

She bit her lip, trying not to cry as she looked into his cold eyes, and said quietly, “Then I will swim.”

\--oOo--

Sherlock slowly stood up and Fidget quietly dropped off Bethany’s shoulder and settled on Fishleg’s lap, shaking, as Sherlock considered Bethany gravely. “You would swim, and you would _die_ , Bethany.”

She shrugged, unable to stop the tears running down her face as she looked at the floor. “At least I would have tried, Sir.”

He sighed and took her chin in his hand, making her look up into his serious face. “Domestic drudgery, Bethany” he said, “Boring food, old clothes, no friends, and no dragons.”

Her breath hitched as she realised what he was saying, giving her a sudden flash of hope. She held onto her anger at him just the same, if only for a moment. “I am aware of the living conditions, Sir. And I would like to think that my food is not as bad as that.”

He smiled ever so slightly as he added, making it sound more like a promise than a threat, “Painful ecstasy.”

She held his gaze, once more almost drowning in his eyes, and whispered a very quiet, “Yes.”

\--oOo-- 

He stayed there for a long time, just watching her face, smiling, and she looked back at him with complete openness, having nothing to hide from him and nowhere to go. There was unmistakable pride in his voice as he finally said, “And so you pass,” letting go of her chin.

She was momentarily confused, and then said, “A test, Sir?”

Sherlock sighed. “You must be able to stand up for yourself, Bethany, if you are to come and live with me, especially without Master Hiccup there to fight your corner. We both know I could quite easily crush you. I had to be sure you would call me out if I got too callous.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to come to grips with what just happened and wondering just how badly she’d been set up. Turning to Stoick, she asked, “Did... Were you in on this, Sir?”

Stoick held his hands up. “No, no, Bethany. I just thought he was bein’ awful. To be honest I was beginnin’ to regret sending Hiccup to stay with him.”

She turned back to Sherlock, who was looking across to Stoick as well. “Your son is an excellent student, Stoick, who applies himself admirably to the task in hand, whatever that might be, unless it goes entirely against his principles in which case he is not afraid to stand up for himself and others. You should have no regrets, even if he learned slightly more than you might have bargained for.” His eyes moved to Bethany as he said it and he smiled before taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. She fought embarrassment only a second before allowing herself to be taken over, because there was a promise in the kiss that was unmistakable and it took her breath away, for the moment forgetting time and place as her universe shrunk to the feeling of his mouth on hers and his hands on her face, and she would have been quite happy to stay like that forever.

Afterwards, when everybody had stopped blushing quite so much and Sherlock’s satisfied grin had worn off a little, Sherlock called for drinks. Stoick became flustered once more, clearly feeling that he was made to look like a bad host, but Sherlock went to retrieve the bag that he had put by the door, presenting Stoick with two bottles of the first new mead of the year. “A small gift to make up for my atrocious behaviour at dinner, Stoick, with regrets at not having been able to do justice to your excellent table,” he said with a wry smile, and Stoick shook his head and went to get cups, coming back a second time with a very large plate of bread and cheese and dried meats which Sherlock ate with relish, sharing it with Bethany who he had put on his lap.

\--oOo-- 

They stayed by the fire for most of the night sharing songs and stories and most of the mead, being joined by the other members of Hiccup’s group after some time who came to see if everybody was still alive. Gobber joined the party, too, looking in surprise at Bethany curled up contentedly on Sherlock’s lap a moment before saying, “I see ye weren’t lyin’, girl, ye really did come for a wee holiday.” Sherlock smiled at him and answered for her, “Exceptional circumstances, Master Gobber. Do not let rumours spread that I grow lenient in my old age,” but he kissed her hair as he said it, and Gobber watched the pair with a big grin before turning to the mead.

Bethany was asleep well before the evening finished, and Sherlock carried her back to the Storm Petrel through the cold night, followed from a distance by Fidget who seemed unsure of his place in all this. The little dragon stopped at the gang plank of the ship and looked rather pathetically up at Sherlock, shivering with the cold, and after a moment’s frowning consideration Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered, “Come on then.” He pointed the dragon to Bethany’s bunk when they had made their way precariously down the dark little ladder and told it to stay there and not burn anything, but Bethany he took to his own cabin, lying her down on his bed and gently undressing her as she slept. He watched her by the light of the oil lamps for a long time, regarding her sleeping form with a look of unguarded wonder that he would never be able to show in the cold light of day, and then he kissed her face and lay down next to her, taking her in a strong embrace as he did so.


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is in no rush to go home.

Bethany woke up disoriented late the next morning, believing she was still in one of her disturbed dreams, but as the events of the night came flooding back to her she looked around the cabin in amazement, realising that she had really made her choice and that Sherlock had honoured it fully, overwhelmed at the thought that he had considered it important enough to carry her back here when the easier option would have been to leave her sleeping by the fire. She rolled over and found him watching her, his clear eyes calm and amused at her amazement as she said, “Thank you for bringing me here, Sir. That can’t have been easy.”

He smiled at her and said, “You forget I have owned this ship for a very long time, Bethany. I have carried a fair few sleeping bodies down those steps in my days.” Then his smile widened as he looked at her with a glint in his eye and added, “Besides, I had my selfish reasons for wishing to have you here this morning.”

He kissed her before she could respond with any more than an, “Oh,” running his hands through her hair as he moved on top of her, looking down at her dazed expression a moment before kissing her once more and taking her without further thought, and she drew him to her and into her with all the strength she had, never wishing to let him go, taking his passion without reservation as she cried out her love for him, caring not who might be listening outside on this bright autumn morning. He met her fully, making love to her with an abandon that swept her away and had her lose all sense of time and space until they came together in gasps and moans, each drawing out the other’s waves until they fell back on the bed in contented exhaustion.

\--oOo--

Contrary to what Bethany had expected Sherlock was in no rush to leave, and he spent the next few days conferring with Stoick about the activities of the traders and dragon hunters in this part of the archipelago, talking to Gobber about the new metals that he was creating using Meatlug and his own dragon Grump’s abilities to process different ores, and spending considerable time with Fishlegs and his collection of books discussing all things dragon. After his initial terror of Sherlock Fishlegs developed a cautious liking for him, but for his part Sherlock could not speak highly enough of Fishlegs’ dedication to his research, frequently making him blush with embarrassed pride.

In the evenings Sherlock offered sword practice to the dragon riders in the arena, and while Fishlegs was happy to sit and watch from a distance, joined by Bethany who enjoyed the spectacle of it, the other members of the group were keen to test their skills against Sherlock’s. None more so than Astrid who clearly felt she had a point to prove, and who came at him with anger and a wish to kill, at least initially, thinking he was a fool to put himself up for this. He fought her with relish and very much an aim to improve her skills, pointing out when anger was clouding her judgment, showing her how she might turn her clear disadvantage in stature and strength against him. Over the evenings and with many defeats she developed a grudging respect for him, accepting his superior skill and taking the teachings rather than raging against them, and subsequently improving more rapidly.

She came to find Bethany after one such session, sitting down next to her as Snotlout took his turn, swinging his stone hammer and blindly charging at Sherlock who simply stepped aside with a flourish at the last moment, tripping him up with his sword as he did so. Astrid smiled as Snotlout skidded face first through the dust, and said, “He’s very good, Bethany. You know, I’ll admit I underestimated him, I thought he was just another boorish thug, like the other raiders. But he’s different.”

Bethany wasn’t sure what to say to that, because she knew that to be very true, so she just answered, “Yes, he is.”

Astrid looked at her. “So what’s he like to live with? That can’t be easy. Especially not when, eh... You know. In your situation.”

Bethany smiled. “I was terrified of him at first, Astrid. I don’t know what it’s like here, but I grew up with horror stories about him as a child, and I honestly thought I was going to die when I realised who he was. But he’s been good to me, overall, and patient, and he’s taught me more than I would ever thought possible." She smiled, watching as Sherlock sidestepped Snotlout again, who found it hard to keep his balance as his hammer met with thin air. Then she continued, "He’s demanding, mind you, and unpredictable, and he won’t be crossed. He’s beholden to nobody, at the end of the day.”

Astrid watched Snotlout struggle for a while longer as she contemplated Bethany’s words. Then she said, “I thought you were mad when you chose to stay with him, to be honest. I don’t think I could give up my freedom for anybody or anything. But I think I can see where you’re coming from now.”

Bethany shrugged. “It’s probably not right, but I love him more than I can put into words, Astrid. And where I came from freedom is a very relative thing anyway. You’re lucky on Berk, you get to choose who you marry, and what you do with your life. It’s not like that on Sundvik. I would have been married to a second cousin, carrying his children by now.”

Astrid looked slightly nauseous and just said, “Ew,” making Bethany laugh. “Yeah, that about summed him up. He was awful.”

\--oOo-- 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching as Snotlout finally admitted defeat and joined them, panting. Sherlock took on the twins, and Bethany thought he must be tired by now, although it didn’t appear to slow him down in any way. In fact with two opponents he allowed himself to let go more, drawing his second rapier, grinning as he parried the twins’ thrusts and coming at them from all sides on the attack.

They both fought him with their spears, bickering as usual as they went for him, and Sherlock made it look more like a dance than a fight as he defended himself from their attacks. Astrid was watching in awe now, quietly muttering admiration at particularly graceful moves, and Bethany smiled as she watched her getting drawn in. “He’s holding back, you know,” she said eventually, and Astrid stared at her in disbelief. “No way.”

It appeared Sherlock had grown tired of the twins’ eternal argument, as he stood listening to them disagreeing about where to go next a moment, shook his head and just moved in, disarming them both in a few swift moves. From the sidelines of the arena the rest of the dragon riders clapped and cheered, and Sherlock made his way over to take a sardonic little bow, holding both his rapiers behind his back with one hand as he did so and looking most elegant. “That will do for the evening, lords and ladies,” he said, and he made to put his weapons away as Astrid said, “Ehm, Sherlock, could I have a go at that?”

Sherlock looked at his two swords and answered her, “That would hardly be a fair match, Mistress Astrid.”

Astrid shrugged. “Not everyone we meet fights fair.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and said, “Very well. But don’t expect me to play nice.”

Astrid smiled as she hopped down onto the arena floor. “Do you ever?”

It earned her a grin from Sherlock, who answered, “Sometimes. When the mood takes me. Or the company is particularly fair.”

She blushed at the way he looked at her as he finished the sentence, and Sherlock made use of her distracted state to launch his attack without warning. She recovered admirably quickly, and the two of them fought their way across the arena floor in a whirl.

Hiccup appeared at the side of the arena, joining the rest of the group as he watched the fight. “I see Sherlock is destroying Astrid again,” he said with amused resignation as he sat down. “Well, you know, you can always go and help her,” Snotlout taunted him, leading Tuffnut to say, “Yeah, Hiccup, it’s all very well commenting from the sidelines, but you could actually go and do something about it.”

Hiccup laughed dismissively. “No thanks. I didn’t even bring anything to spar with, just the dragon sword.”

All eyes were suddenly on Hiccup as Snotlout said with a sly smile, “Now that would be worth watching,” and the twins started to chant, “Dragon Sword! Dragon Sword!” Hiccup looked dubious, but Snotlout pressed on. “C’mon Hiccup, you’ve been away for seven months. Show us what you’ve learnt.”

At the back of the arena Astrid was just about holding her own, but it was also clear that Sherlock was toying with her, simply dragging out the fight to further his own glory. Hiccup watched the unequal battle for a moment longer and then said, “Right. I think you lot may have a point.”

Sliding into the arena, he walked halfway to Astrid and Sherlock before lighting the dragon sword and calling out, “Time to stop beating up my girlfriend, Sherlock.” In the gathering dust the effect was spectacular and Astrid was briefly distracted, paying dearly for her inattentiveness as Sherlock landed a sharp blow on her sword, nearly forcing it out of her hand. On his part, Sherlock merely glanced in Hiccup’s direction, touching his other rapier briefly to his forehead by way of greeting, but he did not in any way change his pace. Instead he just changed his angle of attack slightly so that he could cover both Hiccup and Astrid, and grinned.

The fight that followed was as spectacular as it was brief; faced with two skilled opponents and his own fatigue Sherlock went on the offensive in style, making very quick work of finally disarming Astrid with one rapier while holding Hiccup off with the other, then bearing down on Hiccup in a whirlwind of sharp steel. Hiccup held his own briefly, until the speed at which Sherlock forced him backwards made him trip and lose his balance and he ended up sprawled on the floor with the point of a rapier on his throat. Sherlock grinned at him again, breathing heavily, and said, “Nice try.” Then he helped Hiccup up, who shook his head at losing so badly and said, “Thanks for making me look terrible, Sherlock, I’m not going to live that down for a while.”

\--oOo-- 

They returned to the side of the arena to loud jeers and lambastations, and Hiccup looked sheepishly at them all and said, “There, I lost, I hope you’re happy now.” Astrid, however, grabbed him from behind and hugged him, saying “Well, I’m going to thank you for coming to my rescue anyway, even though you were rubbish.”

Hiccup turned around in her arms and smiled at her ruefully as he said, “Thanks, I think.” When she returned him an insolent grin he changed his tack however, looking at her seriously before leaning down to kiss her with conviction. Astrid froze with surprise a moment before yielding to the kiss, leaving the other dragon riders speechless and Sherlock contemplating his technique with an appreciative eye. When Hiccup broke off the kiss and Astrid had regained her composure somewhat, Sherlock turned to Bethany, making her come down into the arena. He looked at her, still slightly out of breath, and said, “If Master Hiccup gets that after he loses, what do I get for winning?”

She looked back at him, fresh from the fight, his shirt soaked with sweat, looking far too pleased with himself, and thought to tease him a little. “You, Sir, are sweaty and disgusting,” she said with mock disdain, and his eyebrows shot up as he looked at her in amused outrage at her playful insolence. There was a sudden hush of silence in the group as she wondered if she had totally misjudged the situation, and then he stepped up to her, looking at her darkly as he said, with just the slightest hint of a threat, “As will you be when I’m finished with you.” Before she could react he had bent down, grabbed her and thrown her over his shoulder as she gave a surprised shriek, and Sherlock managed to bow almost gracefully to the group of friends before carrying his prize off to the Storm Petrel chuckling, followed by whoops and cheers.


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we reach the end of our little tale.

The day of their departure finally arrived, and Bethany said some tearful goodbyes to her new friends as Sherlock readied the ship. When all was good and ready he came down himself and found her at Stoick’s house, talking to the six friends and sharing some food. Fidget was with her and the little dragon seemed to know that something was up, because he was restless and clingy, letting out little worried chirruping noises.

Sherlock exchanged some final words with Stoick, and then turned to the dragon riders. “You and your friends are welcome to visit,” he said to Hiccup, and with a small bow to Astrid added, “Even Mistress Astrid, if she can stomach me.”

Astrid gave him a wry smile. “I’ve still got to beat you sometime, so yeah, I may have to.”

Sherlock grinned back at her. “Always happy to further your education, Mistress Astrid,” he said, holding her eye until she coloured. Beside her, Hiccup cleared his throat and quietly said, “Mine, Sherlock.”

There was a distinct glint in Sherlock’s eye when he turned to Hiccup with a satisfied smile, gave him a little bow and said, “As I am fully aware, Master Hiccup.” Next to Hiccup Astrid was blushing furiously and Bethany suppressed a smile at her attempts at pretending she wasn’t affected, remembering how much she had hated Sherlock’s guts when he had first arrived.

\--oOo-- 

They made their way to the Storm Petrel together, and Sherlock gave Bethany the time for a final round of goodbyes as Fidget ran nervous circles around her legs. She hugged Snotlout and the twins, who for once didn’t have a witty comeback, and gave Fishlegs a big bear hug and a kiss on his cheek, saying, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Fishlegs. You’re a true friend.” Fishlegs blushed heavily at this and mumbled something inaudible, looking happy and embarrassed at the same time, and she hugged him again before facing Hiccup and Astrid.

Astrid was standing with her arms crossed and Bethany wasn’t sure what to do, so she stood clasping her own hands and said, “Goodbye, Mistress Astrid.” Astrid smiled at her, checking her own defensive stance, and she took Bethany into an unexpected hug and said, “Goodbye, slave girl. Don’t let that pirate take advantage of you.”

Bethany smiled at her as she stepped back and answered, “He invariably does.”

Coming to Hiccup she found herself momentarily lost for words, because there weren’t the words in the world to thank him for everything he had done for her. He smiled at her speechlessness and drew her into a tight embrace as he said, “Goodbye, Bethany. Look after yourself.”

As he let her go she nodded and whispered a “Thank you, Sir,” suppressing tears, and he smiled and kissed her forehead, saying, “Drop the Sir thing already.” She drew away and smiled through her tears, and then shook her head. “No, Sir, I will not.”

Bethany took one final look at the group and then turned to face Sherlock, who was waiting by the gang plank. As she walked to him Fidget followed her, but Sherlock shook his head and said calmly, “No dragons, Bethany.”

\--oOo--

She’d known this was coming, of course, and she’d kept telling herself it was nothing and that Fidget would be fine on the island with all the other dragons, but it still broke her heart to pick up the little creature, say a tearful goodbye to him and pass him to Fishlegs, who was nearly in tears himself. “I’ll... I’ll look after him for you, Bethany,” he said quietly, and she just nodded and turned, unable to bear this any longer. She joined Sherlock without looking back, and he looked at her kindly a moment before asking Hiccup to cast off the last of the mooring lines, guiding Bethany onto the Storm Petrel and raising the gang plank behind him.

She made herself stand by the railings and wave as the ship slowly drew away, although she could not stop the tears running down her face and it was a sad group that returned her final greeting. However, as they left the harbour she could hear a commotion at the moorings, and she looked back to see Fishlegs holding his arm in pained shock, and Fidget frantically flapping his tiny wings to catch up with the Storm Petrel. He landed triumphantly in Bethany’s hair, and she looked at Sherlock absolutely mortified, fearing he might just kill the dragon to be rid of it.

Sherlock regarded the two of them with a frown, clearly considering drastic action, but eventually he gave a resigned sigh and said, “Fine. But if anything of mine gets burnt he’s book coverings.”

\--oOo-- 

Once more out in the open sea Bethany had plenty of time to reflect on the last months, and she found that there were some things that bothered her, questions that she couldn’t shake off. In the evening when they hadn’t reached Sherlock’s island yet she sat next to him by the tiller, twiddling her fingers. He considered her a moment and then said, “Questions?”

Bethany looked at her hands, thinking of how to best phrase the question that was occupying her most. “Yes, Sir. I ehm... Did you, ehm...”

He looked at her with a sigh and said, “Bethany.”

She looked up at him nervously. “Yes Sir?”

“Ask the question you actually want an answer to, not the one you think I want to hear.”

“Oh,” she said, looking into his calm eyes, and it suddenly became simple. “When did you know, Sir, that you were going to keep me?”

He smiled at her, and said, “Did I know I was going to take you back home with me? The answer is I didn’t, but I hoped I would.” He looked out over the sea, and she thought that that was all the answer she was going to get, and while it made her glow inside it didn’t address her whole question. Sherlock sighed and looked back at her, tracing his finger gently over the faint scar on her throat. “When you forgave me for the unforgivable I knew I should keep you with me, but I daren’t for the fear of what had gone before. Ranald saw it, and he implored me, and I tried to avert him with excuses which he didn’t buy. He offered to take you then, and part of that conversation you heard. I believe he hoped he might be able to return you to me once you were free and allowed to make your own choices.”

He looked back out over the water as Bethany thought about what he was telling her, and she felt a pang of guilt about the way she had reacted to Sherlock’s comments, not knowing the background. He continued, looking back at her once more, “Master Hiccup gave me the easy way out, in a way, because it put the onus on you, and there was a very good chance you would make the sensible choice and stay on Berk. But I will admit that the island has been too quiet, and I have been restless these two weeks, and a small part of me remained hopeful that you might choose to return with me.” He sighed again, adding in a most serious voice, “And frankly, the food has been awful.”

She stared at him as he winked, and she shook her head and laughed at him, knowing that that was as close to his true feelings as she would probably ever get. Then, because he would never say such a thing himself, she put her hand on his and said, “I love you, Sir.”

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead, and said, “I know. Although Loki only knows why.”

\--oOo-- 

It was pitch dark by the time they reached Sherlock’s island, and the only reason Bethany recognised it to be land at all was that its dark bulk blocked out the faint light of the stars as they approached it. How Sherlock navigated his way safely into the tiny harbour she had no idea, but he moored the ship quickly and efficiently as she sat and contemplated the strange turns her life had taken. When he had finished he came back to get her, taking her hand with a bow and saying, “Welcome home.”

She stood up and looked at the black shape of the cliff they were about to scale, and almost absent-mindedly said, “Does it have a name, Sir, home?”

He nodded as he followed her gaze, contemplating his safe haven as he did so, and the few that knew its name and location. Then he looked at her and smiled, and said, “It’s called Stockholm.”

\--oOo--  The End --oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, reader, for staying with me on this epic journey. This started out as a small idea that would simply not leave my head, and has grown into something that I could not possibly have foreseen. The writing has been a joy, if a painful one at times, and I hope that you have become as attached to the characters as I have.
> 
> As a final footnote, I must thank my other half firstly for tolerating me absconding from the effective running of our household for six months to write this thing, and secondly for providing all the inspiration that a girl could ever need to write the steamy stuff. Since there has only ever been him I must give him full credit.
> 
> There will be epilogues, of course. Because this is only the beginning in a way.


	86. Epilogue (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a wardrobe crisis.

Sherlock stretched in the first rays of the watery March sun, looking around the courtyard at the snow still lying in high piles against the inside of the palisade fence and beside the narrow slippery tracks that he and Bethany had created and maintained to enable them access to the animals and the workshops during the winter. It had been a particularly harsh one, and only in the last few days could the promise of spring be felt in the cold air. They were running low on supplies, but the island had been cut off from the rest of the archipelago by the ice that had formed in the harbour, leaving them isolated for months. Now that the ships were once more free to leave Sherlock grew restless, looking south wistfully each time he stepped out of the front door.

Bethany walked onto the courtyard with the feed for the chickens, and watched his profile a moment before carrying on. When she returned he was still standing in the same spot, but he now turned and looked at her disapprovingly as he took in her dress. “That won’t do, Bethany. Have you nothing better?”

She blushed, knowing full well that the skirt she was wearing had been mended many times, and the shirt had seen better days years ago. “I’m sorry, Sir, this is all I had today. Everything else is either in the wash or on the mending pile.”

He frowned, and said, “Show me.”

Embarrassed, she showed him her empty wardrobe, and then gave him the basket with the mending that she had meant to do in the afternoon. He picked out the clothes one by one, stared at the holes at them and threw them aside in disgust. “You can’t wear any of this.”

“I know, Sir,” she said, shaking a bit, “That’s why I put them aside to mend.”

He looked at her with a frown a moment, and then said, “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant you couldn’t wear them if they were in one piece. It’s all falling apart.” At the bottom of the basket where two of his own shirts, and he looked at the rips in them and the way the fabric was thinning, and sighed as he threw them on the discard pile as well.

He dragged her to the laundry basket next and made her take out the dirty linen which she did awkwardly. Two of her shirts passed muster and one of her skirts, and he looked at the sad little pile of clothes that were wearable and frowned again at the pile of things he had discarded, and said, “I have been entirely remiss. We must go clothes shopping, and do so soon. And I need a new hat, since Kari took my spare one.”

\--oOo-- 

When Sherlock had said _clothes shopping_ , Bethany had begun to wonder where he might hope to buy the garments he wore himself. While it would be easy to find wool or linen for her own simple outfits, she would not know how to begin creating his lace shirts, and she told him so. He looked at her in confusion. “I said _clothes shopping_ , Bethany, not fabric shopping. I don’t expect you to make me one of these.” He’d resorted to a shirt with an outrageous amount of lace for the day for lack of anything else to wear, and while it looked extremely fetching on him they always caused her headaches when it came to cleaning them, as he expected them to be returned to him in pristine condition and with the lace pressed just so. She was relieved to hear she would not be expected to start sewing these for him. Even so, it didn’t resolve in her own mind where they might obtain them, as she had never seen anything like them in the archipelago, but she didn’t ask the question because it didn’t appear to bother Sherlock much. Instead he began packing, instructing her to put together enough food to see them through a three week journey by boat.

She did so without asking the burning question that became more and more prominent in her mind over the next two days. When they had dragged all the supplies down to the Storm Petrel and secured them below decks, returning with half of Sherlock’s wardrobe and the few clothes that Bethany had left, she could stand it no longer and stopped him as he was casting off the mooring lines. “Sir, I can’t work out where we are going. There’s no islands in the archipelago that are a three week journey away, not even half that.”

He stood up and smiled at her mischievously. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Instead of answering her he kept on loosening the lines, leaving Bethany to simmer quietly on her unanswered question. Once he had drawn in the gang plank and the ship was slowly moving towards the harbour mouth he turned to Bethany again. She was pretending to have lost interest in the answer but doing so badly, Fidget reflecting the state of her agitation by running circles around her legs. “We’re heading South, Bethany, not staying around here,” Sherlock said with a glint in his eye. “I have a very good tailor in London, and my hat maker is just down the road from him. Since I do not believe there are any warrants outstanding on me in Britannia at the moment we should not run into any trouble while we’re there.”

He grinned at her as her jaw dropped, and added, “We can go and annoy my brother while we’re at it. I’m sure he’d love that.”


	87. Epilogue (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are in for a bit of a shock.

She hadn’t been feeling right for weeks, but not bad enough to mention it to Sherlock. Tired every morning even though she was getting plenty of sleep, she’d lost her appetite, often feeling quite ill when she woke. One morning she served Sherlock his breakfast only to have to run out of the door to be sick at the smell of the food. She hadn’t finished retching when he turned up at the front door, looking very serious and a little pale. While she stood up and attempted to compose herself, he asked very quietly, “Bethany, when did you last bleed?”

She looked at him and blinked, trying to remember. “A... A couple of months ago, Sir... Oh.”

They stared at each other, Sherlock going even paler as he asked, “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“About three weeks, Sir. I... I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, I thought I’d eaten something...” She looked at him in shock. “I’ve always taken the tablets as you instructed, Sir.”

He shook his head, clearly distressed, “There’s always a chance, Bethany, always a chance.”

She felt her world turn upside down as he spoke, as she was sure his was, too. Sherlock looked absolutely terrified as she went to him, taking his hand. “Sir, are you alright?”

He looked at her and all she saw was fear, and if she had ever needed any confirmation of his feelings for her she found it right there. “No,” he said, “No. Yes. I don’t know. I _don’t know_ , Bethany.”

She put her arms around him and held him, and he returned her embrace gently, shaking a little.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

As the weeks went by Bethany started to feel better, getting her energy back and positively blooming. Sherlock fretted when he thought she couldn’t see him and frequently disappeared for hours on end on foot or by boat, and when he returned he’d look like he had been battling ghosts. Bethany worried for him on those days, but mostly he treated her with care and attention, clearly trying to remain positive in the light of the inevitable.

One afternoon Bethany was outside airing the bedding. It was the middle of June and the weather was glorious, and she would have felt happy and carefree if it hadn’t been for the fact that Sherlock had taken one of the small boats early in the morning without saying a word and hadn’t been seen since. She kept a wary eye on the harbour as she went about her day, and was relieved to see a small boat on the horizon, slowly making its way towards Stockholm.

When the ship came closer she looked again, and realised that it wasn’t Sherlock who was heading towards their harbour. It took her a moment to recognise the little ship as Ranald’s, and she dropped everything to make her way down to the moorings as quickly as she could with her growing bump.

\--oOo-- 

Ranald’s face when he saw Bethany was a complete picture. He was still standing on his boat, just about to jump over with his mooring line when she walked up onto the little quay and he nearly dropped the rope when he saw her, doing a double take and letting out a long and incredulous curse when he registered her tell-tale bump. He moored this ship as quickly as he could and came up to her, looking shocked. “Little bird, I didn’t expect you here, I thought you’d be on Berk enjoying your freedom. And this...,”He put his hand on her stomach and looked at her, concerned. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“He went out, Master Ranald, early this morning. He didn’t say where to.”

Ranald frowned. “Has he been looking after you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Bethany said, “But he frets, and he disappears when it gets too much.”

Ranald sighed, clearly concerned, and then shrugged his shoulders and smiled at her. “Come, little bird, let us wait for him in the comfort of your home. It’s been a long journey and I could do with a drink. How are you about getting up that cliff?”

\--oOo-- 

It was late when Sherlock returned looking drawn, but he came to find Ranald in the study immediately. “I recognised your little peapod, Ranald. Where’s the behemoth?”

Ranald smiled. “Under Hägar’s capable command. I thought I’d join you for Midsummer, Sherlock, but you appear to have bigger things on your plate.”

Bethany came in to serve Sherlock a late supper, and he thanked her and kissed her and watched her affectionately as she poured Ranald another drink, and then dismissed her for the night, keeping the bottle. She closed the door behind her as she went, and not being tired yet she went to the kitchen to do some reading.

\--oOo--

She could hear the argument across the hallway, and although she did not catch all the words the gist of it was very clear, Sherlock shouting his terror at Ranald and Ranald reminding him of his responsibilities in no uncertain terms. Fidget sat under her chair shaking in terror, and she tried to calm him down while fighting her own fear. Eventually she couldn’t stand it any longer since it clearly concerned her as well, and so she knocked on the door, and again, until they heard her and Sherlock swung the door open in front of her, looking livid and breathing heavily.

He stopped when he saw the terror in her, closing his eyes and shaking his head, drawing his hand across his face as he composed himself. “Bethany, you were meant to be in bed.”

“Sir, the argument is loud enough to wake the dead,” she said, and added, “I didn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping but I cannot help hearing everything.”

Despite his state he smiled wanly at her and gestured her into the room, where Ranald greeted her kindly and invited her to sit with them, which she did a little awkwardly. “Are you feeling well, Bethany?” he asked, and she nodded, and told him yes, very well, thank you Sir, wondering why he was asking. Ranald looked across at Sherlock. “Look at her, Sherlock. Actually look at her and forget about Irene a moment. She is well, she is blooming, and the child is clearly well, too. You just need to look after her, and to be here for her. She doesn’t need you to disappear for days on end because of things that happened seven years ago. You’re getting a second chance, don’t throw it away.”

Sherlock looked at the two of them, taking in Bethany as Ranald had asked him to, and then he shook his head in frustration, throwing up his hands as he knelt by her and put his head in her lap despondently. “But I could lose her, too, Ranald,” he whispered, and Bethany stroked his hair and bit back a few tears as she watched him wrestle with his despair.

Just at that moment the child inside her moved, and she could feel the kick against her stomach wall that hit Sherlock straight in the head. He froze a moment and then looked at her in amazement. “It kicked me.”

Beside him, Ranald said, “Well, you clearly deserved it,” and Bethany couldn’t help but giggle through her tears.

Sherlock looked at her bump and then back at Bethany as if he was seeing her for the first time, a look of absolute awe spreading across his face. Then he said, “Forgive me, Bethany, I’ve been an idiot. I’ve been wallowing in self-pity, while you have been...,” he gestured at her body, “You have been creating new life, and getting on with it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

Bethany smiled at him. “It _is_ the most natural thing in the world, Sir.” Sherlock put his hand over her stomach, feeling the movements inside, and smiled in wonder as he said, “Well, I’ve not been exactly focused on the creation side of things in my life, Bethany. Quite the opposite.”

Afterwards they sat and talked about the months ahead, but Ranald grew more and more irritated with Sherlock’s insistence on organising everything himself. In the end he shook his head at his friend and said, “Sherlock, this is women’s work. She needs a midwife, and it’s not you. I’m sorry to break to this you, my friend, but in this area you will never be the expert. Where’s the nearest village with a decent amount of womenfolk that would tolerate you?”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, never having imagined that he would hand over the responsibility for the birth of his child to another person. He stared at Ranald and then said without considering options, “Berk. They have a wise woman.”

“Midsummer on Berk it is, then,” Ranald said cheerfully, as Sherlock stared at him in a daze. “She’s not due until midway through September, Ranald, I calculated it. Why are we going now?”

Ranald stood up and went over to Bethany, kissing her forehead as he smiled at her. “I am sorry that your master is a complete idiot, little bird. You have to excuse him for having no experience in the matter. But I am sure you will be glad to visit Berk and ask their wise woman any questions you may have, and allow her to tell you that you and the child are well and when she believes the birth may be, and gather any advice you might wish for from the other women on the island.”

She smiled at him and thanked him, and Sherlock just stared at the two of them and said, “Oh.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“...Twins?” Sherlock stared at Hiccup in complete disbelief, and Hiccup consulted Gothi’s drawing again, confirming with the wise woman that his interpretation was correct. “Yup,” he said, “Congratulations, she reckons it’s twins. I’ve never known her to be wrong, Sherlock.”

Ranald stood with Bethany, who was having some trouble taking in the news herself, although of late she had begun to have her suspicions. He put his arm around her, kissing her hair, and said, “You’ll be fine, little bird. I’m not sure about your master though, he seems to have lost the plot altogether.”

Sherlock turned to Ranald, looking utterly lost, and said, “I could do with a drink.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Half September. Your timing couldn’t be worse, Sherlock.” Ranald looked at his ale, shaking his head once more at the situation. “You were going to spend the back end of August on the Narwhal, remember?”

“I didn’t plan this, Ranald,” Sherlock responded, looking irritated. Bethany was busy with some mending in the corner, but she kept a wary ear on the conversation. This was something that had bothered her, too, but Sherlock had been so preoccupied with panicking about the birth and her possible imminent death that he had not talked about it with her at all.

“Will you still need to?” Ranald asked the question quietly, looking at his friend with concern.

Sherlock considered his own glass a moment and sighed. “There is a very good chance I will be worse than ever this year, Ranald. What with all that hanging over us.” He waved vaguely at Bethany, who wasn’t overly impressed at being referred to as ‘all that’. However she was glad the issue was being discussed, so she kept quiet and let them get on with it.

Ranald thought a while, and then said, “Well, the easiest way to resolve this is for me to pick you up halfway through August, drop your little bird and her burden off at Berk, and when you get some sense back into you I’ll take you back there. And then if the twins are early she’s already where she needs to be.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

She’d been restless all day and unable to find a position that was comfortable to either sit or stand in. One of the babies had settled low down in her underbelly, and its kicks were causing her discomfort whichever way she positioned herself. In the end she’d spent time walking around Gothi’s house, finding that the movement helped soothe the pain in her lower back that had begun to bother her from the afternoon onward.

Gothi came through the door, wet from the rain that was falling outside, and took a critical look at Bethany. Then she took a small piece of paper and scrawled a little note, giving it to one of her dragons and sending it on its way. Within minutes one of the village women arrived, a cheerful lady called Audhild, who greeted Bethany kindly. Bethany was a little confused about what she was doing there; it was later on in the evening, nigh on dinnertime, and she wouldn’t expect anyone to visit. Audhild laughed at her confusion merrily, and told her, “I’ll be here a while yet, love, as Gothi called for me. Let’s welcome these babies of yours into the world.”

Suddenly Bethany understood why she had been feeling so awful all afternoon, but she looked at Audhild in denial, shaking her head. “I can’t be in labour, Master Sherlock isn’t due back yet until tomorrow.”

Giving her a broad smile, Audhild patted her on the shoulder and said, “Since when have babies _ever_ waited for the man to be around? You don’t needs him love, we’ll take care of this.”

\--oOo-- 

Bethany didn’t hear the knock on the door, busy as she was breathing through the agony that was shooting through her body at short intervals, but Gothi did. She went to the door and opened it a crack, looked at who was outside and resolutely shook her head, closing the door with a snap. The knock was repeated, louder, a second later and she smiled, opening the door again, and Bethany could hear the rush of the rain and the distinct sound of Sherlock’s voice saying, “ _Please._ ”

He came in, drenched to the bone and looking drawn and pale as he stumbled his way to Bethany, who just about managed to smile at him as he took her hand. The midwife took one disdainful look at him and said, “The great Dread Pirate Sherlock, eh? Well you shan’t interfere, Sir, and you shall leave if we asks you to, and you shall gracefully accept any abuse the lady decides to throw your way. Now keep hold of her hand and help her breathe, try to not drip on her, and remember who put her here in the first place.”

\--oOo-- 

Being twins they were small but they were perfect, and they were born in the early hours of the morning to tears and curses, the girl first, the boy a short while later. Sherlock sat and watched the birth of these small lives holding Bethany’s hands as she dug her nails into him, drawing blood, with a face that was filled with awe and wonder and no small amount of admiration. When it was all over and Audhild had gone home he held them carefully, as if concerned he might break them just by touching them, utterly mesmerised by their little faces and the perfection of their tiny hands, before Gothi wrapped them in swaddling cloths and returned them to their mother.


	88. Epilogue (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes surprisingly quickly.

Ranald arrived unannounced in the middle of August with a bag of small clothes and a box full of children’s toys. Bethany was with Fidget feeding the animals in the courtyard when he arrived, and he passed her his load with a big smile as he said, “There’s some gifts from the crew, birdie. They are quite taken with the change in fortune for the great Captain Sherlock.” Then he hugged her and asked her quietly, “How is he?”

Before Bethany could answer Sherlock came out of the front door, carrying a little curly-haired blonde boy in one arm while trying to hold on to a small dark-haired girl who was sitting on his shoulders, chewing his hair. After an awkward embrace Ranald looked at him and grinned. “I came to pick you up, Sherlock, but I can see you have your hands full.”

Sherlock gave him the little boy and toppled the girl forward over his shoulder, where he held her upside down by the waist for a moment as she shrieked in delight, before turning her the right way round again. Ranald smiled at the child in his arms, who looked back at him without fear and tried to poke his eye with a studious finger, as Sherlock said, “Sherrinford, no.” Then Sherlock looked at Ranald and grinned. “I’ve barely had time to think, Ranald. They are nearly walking, I can’t leave here.”

“Then I will stay here awhile,” Ranald said, eyeing his former captain with amusement. Sherlock raised and eyebrow. “I’m safe, Ranald, you don’t need to keep an eye on me.” Ranald shrugged, “I’m not taking any chances, Sherlock, not with this lot around you. Besides, it’s nice to spend a bit of time with the kids.” He poked the little girl in the tummy and she giggled as he said. “Hello, tiny Irene.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

She caught Sherlock watching the children at play almost every day with a wondrous half-smile that said he had never expected this, the sharp, dark-haired girl with the quick tongue and the flash of blue eyes, her gentle, blonde-haired brother almost a complete contrast to her in both physique and character. Their eyes were the same, however, clear and clever and all the colours of the sea as they studied the world around them calmly, Sherrinford taking an interest in the sky and its dragons where Irene was drawn to the sea like her father.

Irene came to him one afternoon, crawling under the book that he was reading as he sat in the study, and looked at him with great excitement as she said, “Daddy.”

Sherlock put his book down and smiled at her. “Yes?”

“Sherrinford just said you were a pirate. Were you a pirate?”

Wondering how his son had worked this out, Sherlock chewed his bottom lip a moment, eventually concluding that truth would be out in the end anyway. “Yes, I was.”

Irene’s eyes lit up. “Ooh. Can I be a pirate when I grow up?”

He grinned at her and said, “You can be anything you want, my dear. Anything you want.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Dad?”

Sherlock looked at his son as he ran into the room, his messy blonde curls sticking out on all sides, bits of leaves and twigs entangled in them, a great green smudge covering his breeches, and smiled at the evidence of a good day spent in the woods. “Yes?”

“What’s behind the big door at the back of the corridor, Dad? Mum won’t tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, wondering how many more awkward questions his children would come up with, and said, “Ghosts and monsters, Sherrinford. That’s why there’s a big lock on it.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Mum?”

Bethany was in the kitchen, clearing the last of the dishes of the day. “Yes, darling?”

Irene looked at her mother with her clear, inquisitive eyes, and said, “Why do you wear that collar around your neck? Sherrinford says it’s a slave collar. It’s not, is it?”

Bethany stopped, put everything down and turned to face her daughter. She’d expected the question at some point, of course, as the children learned to read and explored the parts of Sherlock’s library he gave them access to. However she had never thought of a good response to it, because there simply wasn’t. So she looked at her child’s serious face and said, “Yes, it is.”

She watched her daughter’s eyes widen with shock, and felt a pang of regret at this situation that she herself did not even consider anymore, at least not regularly. “But why, mum?” Irene asked, “You’re not... I mean, you seem happy. And dad’s nice to you.”

She lifted her daughter up onto the work surface so she could look her in the eye, and smiled at her, looking at her long dangling legs, her arms that seemed to go on for miles these days, and she wondered where her baby had gone. “Yes,” she said, “I’m happy, and your dad is nice to me. But I was brought here as a slave, many years ago, and a lot of things happened and changed, and that stayed the same.”

The serious look did not leave Irene’s face. “But don’t you want to be free?”

Bethany smiled again and stroked her daughter’s hair. “They offered to set me free, you know, and I could have been living on Berk with the dragons. But I chose to stay with your dad instead, and I kept the collar, because that’s the only way I was going to go back with him, and because I loved him more than freedom.”

Irene thought about it, still serious. “So he really was a pirate, wasn’t he, mum? I thought it was just a silly story that Sherrinford made up to wind me up, and dad thought it was funny to keep it going.”

Bethany shook her head, still smiling. “No, he was a pirate, and a notorious one at that. My mum used to scare us with stories about him when I was a little girl. He had quite the reputation.”

Sherlock walked by the kitchen, and seeing the serious conversation in progress stopped and joined Bethany and his daughter. Irene looked at him a little angrily. “Dad, you could just take that thing off mum. She doesn’t deserve it, she’s really nice.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his daughter’s forwardness, although he had long ago ceased to be surprised at it. Then he took Bethany’s hand and twirled her around in the kitchen, considering her as he did so. “You are correct, she does not deserve it, Irene,” he said as she came to a stop in front of him, blushing a little. He ran a finger gently over her face, studying her as he always did, and said quietly, “And if I set you free today, Bethany, what would you do?”

Bethany swallowed, struggling to remain sensible in front of her daughter. She thought of all the answers she should be giving and then got lost in the pools of his eyes once more, knowing to her core by now how much she loved him. “Nothing, Sir,” she said softly, “There is nothing I would change. I do not wish to be anywhere else.”

Sherlock turned to his daughter, giving her a meaningful stare as the girl shook her head in slightly disgusted disbelief. Then he turned back to Bethany with a smile, and said, “Thank you,” before pulling her to him and kissing her passionately. Irene stared at them for a brief second and then went, “Ew, you two are disgusting,” and she slid off her perch and out of the kitchen as Sherlock pushed her mother gently against a wall, pinning her arms above her head while never breaking his kiss.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Uncle Ranald, were you a pirate too?” Sherrinford had run to Ranald as he arrived that August, throwing the first question in his head at him even before Ranald had entered the compound fully. Clearly the idea that their father really had been a notorious pirate had taken hold of the children’s imaginations, and they were often found sparring with wooden swords or attempting to raid each other’s makeshift forts. Sherlock had been just in time to stop them from taking one of his small boats a few times for one of their games, putting the fear of the sea into them as he did so, or at least attempting to. While Sherrinford listened to his dad with big, serious eyes, Irene clearly took very little notice of his dire warnings, although she did promise not to go out on her own again.

Ranald looked at the gangly boy and grinned. “You’ve grown again. Are you going to stop sometime?”

Sherrinford shook his head quite seriously. “Answer the question, uncle Ranald. Were you also a famous pirate?”

Ranald winked at him. “Nope.”

“Oh,” Sherrinford said, clearly a little disappointed. His grin widening, Ranald added, “That’s because I still _am_ , Sherrinford. Big ship and all.”

Sherrinford’s eyes widened in complete awe. “No way.” He thought about a moment, then asked, “Do you fight? Like a real pirate?”

Ranald looked at him, and across to Sherlock who was coming out of his front door to greet the visitor. “Of course I do, Sherrinford. As does your dad. He’s one of the best swordsmen I know.”

The boy shook his head. “Nah, he isn’t. He’s rubbish with a wooden sword, he always lets me win.”

Ranald gave him a wicked grin and shook his head, drawing both his rapiers as he looked at Sherlock. “Get your swords, Sherlock. It appears you are neglecting your children’s basic education.”

\--oOo-- 

After the drawn out and spectacular fight, which Sherlock won with what Ranald claimed was a stroke of luck but Sherlock insisted was pure genius, the two men returned to Bethany and the children, who stared at them in utter awe and disbelief. Sherlock couldn’t help but grin at their faces, and Ranald shook his head once more. “I can’t believe you’ve never shown them any of this stuff, Sherlock. I’d have thought you’d have been sparring with them as soon as they could walk.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t want to give them the wrong idea, Ranald.”

Ranald’s face creased into a lopsided smile as he said, “I’m surprised. I’d have thought of all people you’d be keen to give them all the wrong ideas.”

Sherlock turned to his friend, considering him with a little smile as he did so, and said, “Maybe I should.” Then he stepped up to Ranald, took his face and kissed him slowly and with care, the younger man returning the kiss with enthusiasm after a moment of shock, putting his hands on Sherlock’s waist and drawing him to him. The children watched in stunned silence a moment, and then Sherrinford said, “Ew, dad, that’s disgusting.”

Sherlock broke off the kiss but kept his hands on Ranald’s face as he looked at his son, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Irene backed her brother up. “He’s right, dad. And you have mum, anyway.”

Sherlock gave her a wicked smile. “You’re right, I do have your mother, quite regularly.” He winked at her shocked face before returning his gaze to Ranald, who blushed as Sherlock added, “And if they’re really good, I have them both.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“I can’t deal with her, Ranald, I really can’t.” Sherlock sat in his chair, staring at the late August sun streaming through the windows of his study. The apple he was about to eat sat forgotten in his hand as he thought about his daughter, and Ranald watched his friend struggle, thinking that Sherlock looked greyer and more tired than the last time he had visited him, only a few months ago at Midsummer. “She’s completely out of control. She’s wilful and headstrong and she won’t _listen_ to me.”

He banged the apple on the table hard in a fit of temper, and it smashed into a hundred soggy pieces, juice covering Sherlock’s hand, the table and after a moment, the floor. Sherlock looked at the mess he’d made and sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do, Ranald. The boy I can deal with, he’s like his mother. But Irene...”

“Well,” Ranald said, looking at his friend with amusement, “Smashing apples will certainly fix it.”

Sherlock growled. “It’s not funny, Ranald, she took the Storm Petrel the other day, for Loki’s sake. I should have keelhauled her, it would have taught her a lesson.”

Ranald raised an eyebrow. “Remind you of anyone?”

Looking at the wall, Sherlock pulled an annoyed face. “Yes, I know. But I’m her _father,_ Ranald.  Nobody has ever disobeyed me like she does. She should respect me.”

Ranald sat and thought for a moment, and then said, “Give her to me.”

Sherlock looked at his friend, and said, “What?”

“Give her to me,” Ranald repeated. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s more than old enough to stand on her own two feet. She can join my crew at the bottom and work her way up. It will teach her respect, and get her out of your greying hair.”

Sherlock winced ruefully at the mention of his physical state, but he considered Ranald’s proposal seriously. “Would you look after her?”

With a shrug, Ranald said, “There will be no special treatment, Sherlock, but she’d be looked after.”

“No guarantees?”

Ranald shook his head. “No guarantees for her safety. You know better than anyone that I cannot give you those.”

Sherlock sat back and sighed, looking at the wall again. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion. “Fine. At this rate I’m likely to kill her myself one of these days anyway. I’ll go and speak to her mother.”

Ranald suppressed a smile. “Consulting the slave girl, Sherlock? How things have changed.”

Sherlock shrugged, resigned but not apparently unhappy with the state of affairs. “Yes, Ranald. They have.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

 “So, what do you say, Missy?”

Ranald watched the girl, all of fifteen and ready to take on the world, frankly stunning with her quick blue eyes and her dark hair that she kept cropped short, sporting a glorious tan from the long summer spent outside in or near or on the water and looking distinctly feral as she sulkily considered what he had offered her.

“I’m no deck hand, uncle Ranald. I’m far better than that.”

“Well, you’ll just have to prove that to me and the rest of the crew. People do move up quickly, if they apply themselves.”

She scowled at him. “I’ve got nothing to prove. You know I’m good.”

Ranald shook his head. “No, I don’t. I know that you’re arrogant, and conceited, and think very highly of yourself. But I’ve never seen you on a ship, and I’ve never seen you in a fight. There is no amount of having a famous dad that will get you special treatment on my ship, Irene. That’s not how these things work.”

Irene was fuming now. “I’ll fight you and prove it to you.”

Grinning at the seething girl, Ranald said, “Fine. Meet you in the courtyard.”

\--oOo-- 

To give Irene her due, she fought Ranald with all the viciousness of a caged animal attacking its captor, wielding the rapier he had lent her with considerable skill but mainly with rage. Sherlock, Bethany and Sherrinford watched as Ranald calmly parried her mad thrusts, his years of experience more than a match for her carelessly expended youthful energy. When she began to tire he went on the attack, and he showed her all the corners of the courtyard in quick succession, driving her mad with anger with his cheerful manner as he skilfully moved her around the place, telling her exactly what he was going to do next as he did so. Eventually he decided enough was enough, and he quickly wrested the rapier from the panting girl, flicking it up in the air with the tip of his sword and catching it with his empty hand, and as she watched the arc of the blade in shock he hooked his foot around her ankle and pulled her over. She landed with a thud flat on her back in the dust of the courtyard, and found herself looking at Ranald’s rapier pointing at her throat and his smiling face close to hers. Quietly, so that the others would not hear, he said, “There. I’ll fight you with my good hand next time.”

\--oOo--

She’d stormed off after her defeat, out of the courtyard and down to the harbour, and Sherlock had watched from the vantage point of the roof as she sailed off in one of the small boats. Ranald met him as he came down, and said, “That might have been a bit much. I didn’t mean to scare her off.”

Sherlock shook his head. “She’ll be back. You’ve given her plenty to think about.” Then he grinned, and added, “Did you tell her you’re left-handed?”

\--oOo-- 

“Will you pay me?”

Irene had come back under cover of darkness and made her way straight to the study where Ranald and Sherlock were sharing ale and stories, with Bethany trying to read in the corner, finding it hard to focus while her daughter was unaccounted for. She’d been pleased with Ranald’s proposal, because it was becoming very clear to her that the island was too small for Irene, and as the clashes between her and Sherlock had grown in seriousness she had begun to realise that something would have to give soon. The idea of Irene being stationed on the Narwhal, where she would have no choice but to pull her weight and learn tolerance appealed to Bethany, more so because she trusted Ranald without reservation, and knew that he would pull her up on any misbehaviour but do so with understanding.

Ranald regarded Irene calmly, and said, “Yes, same as any other deck hand.”

She frowned, clearly still baulking at the idea of being given such a lowly station and annoyed that she had been unable to change his mind, but inevitably lured to the promise of a life at sea under the command of a captain who was so clearly capable.

“How long until I move up the ranks?”

Ranald smiled at her. “Meet my crew, Irene, get yourself established, learn the ropes. Make some friends, if you can. Try not to boast.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly considering another argument, but Ranald looked at her quite calmly and after a moment she decided against it. She took a deep breath, and said, “Fine.”

Ranald beamed. “Great. Then you will call me Captain or Sir and you will do as I say, and in return I will show you the seven seas and feed you, and teach you how to fight properly. Anything else is up for grabs and entirely dependent on your behaviour. We sail in September.”

Scowling at him, she said, “I’ve never called anyone Sir in my life. I’m not my mum, uncle Ranald.”

The room fell quiet, and Sherlock and Ranald exchanged a glance, silently consulting who would deal with Irene’s insolence. In the corner Bethany was beginning to fume, but Ranald held up his hand and said quietly, “Your mother, Irene, is one of the strongest and most generous people you will ever have the fortune to meet, regardless of her status, which is hers by choice. If you grew up to be half the person she is you could be proud of yourself. Now if you are to last half a day on my ship I suggest you learn some humility, and you do so now. Apologise.”

Irene looked at Ranald, meeting his eye insolently, but he merely returned her gaze calmly and deadly seriously. The realisation that there was a steely, unyielding core underneath his cheerful and mercurial exterior slowly dawned on her, and with it some inkling of what she was letting herself in for. She swallowed and looked away at Bethany, saying, “Sorry, mum,” and Bethany just nodded, still reeling a little from Ranald’s praise.

As Irene left the room, shutting the door behind her loud enough to make a point but not hard enough to get into trouble, Sherlock sighed and said, “I hope you understand what you’re letting yourself in for, Ranald.”

Ranald returned his worried expression with a smile. “I’ve got the measure of her, Sherlock. She needs a bigger cage, that’s all, this place is stifling her. She’ll thrive on the Narwhal and she’ll find her feet. There’s plenty of strong characters there to keep her in check.” His smile widened. “Remember, I’m the one who took Hägar on, and he turned out alright. I’m sure those two will get on like a house on fire.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Anyone that so much as lays a finger on her I will personally disembowel with a blunt spoon.”

Standing in the harbour, Ranald regarded his former captain with amusement, thinking that for somebody who had terrorised the archipelago and beyond for the best part of twenty-five years he acted surprisingly like a frightened landlubber when it came to letting his own daughter go to sea to follow in his footsteps. “I will remind the crew, Sherlock, although you may have to make allowances for her making that decision herself at some point.”

Sherlock looked at him in horror at the thought that hadn’t occurred to him, but Irene rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen. Not interested, uncle Ranald.”

Ranald smiled at her. “That’s Captain Ranald as soon as you set foot on that little boat, Missy. Start practising now.”

Irene looked back at him stoically a moment, and then shrugged. “Fine, Captain.”

\--oOo-- 

As they watched Ranald’s boat sail out of the harbour, heading for its rendezvous with the Narwhal, Sherlock turned to Sherrinford. “And what of you, son? Where does your path lead?”

Sherrinford considered his dad a moment and Bethany watched the two of them, thinking the contrast between the two could not be stronger but for the kinship in their eyes. “I don’t want to be a pirate, dad. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock smiled at his son, and said, “I never thought you would, Sherrinford. It was never in your stars. I’m asking you what you _do_ want to do, now that your sister is out of our hair.”

Sherrinford watched the little ship as it sailed off, suddenly feeling a world of choice opening up for himself. Up to that point he had always assumed that Irene and him would be together, that they would follow the same paths, and he had waited for Sherlock or his mother to raise the question about accompanying his sister in the last few weeks and was surprised that that conversation had never happened. Now he realised that it had never been an issue, and it threw him. “I... I don’t know, dad.”

Sherlock watched his son wrestle with his thoughts, and said kindly, “I think you do, Sherrinford. But come and tell me when you have worked it out.”

\--oOo-- 

“I would go to Berk, dad, and study with the dragon riders.”

Sherlock was out on the courtyard, getting the fencing ready for another winter. Bethany was holding a spar for him as he lashed it in place, and he calmly finished the job before turning to his son. “That didn’t take you very long.”

Sherrinford smiled at his dad. “I always knew it, dad. I just forgot about it when Irene filled my head with visions of pirates. But my first love was always the dragons.”

Sherlock nodded at him and turned to Bethany, giving her a bow as he reached out his hand. “Would you care to accompany us on a trip to visit Hiccup and his friends, my dear?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Well, that was a fun fifteen years,” Sherlock said with a wink to Bethany as he steered the Storm Petrel into Stockholm’s small harbour just as the late August sun was setting on the unseasonably warm day. It was strange to think that they were once more on their own, with responsibilities that no longer concerned anyone else but the two of them, and all the freedom of the island now that Sherrinford had settled on Berk to learn with the dragon riders. Bethany looked at this man she had chosen to spend her life with, and saw the deepening lines on his face, the hair which these days was more grey than black, and smiled. She knew that she herself was not looking her youthful self anymore, and it had been a shock to see grey hairs on both Hiccup and Astrid when they visited. Time was passing them by quickly, but at the same time she felt no different than the day she had sailed back to Stockholm with Sherlock.

Sherlock watched her, reading her thoughts, and smiled. He kissed her forehead before walking off to moor the ship, and she went below decks to retrieve the few belongings that they had taken with them. When she came back on deck she found Sherlock waiting for her with a wicked smile, and she stopped in her tracks as he said, “Put it all down.”

Bethany carefully put the two backpacks she was carrying on the deck, watching him uncertainly as his smile turned into a grin at her awe of him after all these years. By the time he had slowly undressed her she was trembling, and he scooped her up in his arms naked, carrying her down the gang plank onto the beach to the place where he had first taken her all those years ago. There he put her down on her feet, kicking off his boots and quickly stripping to nothing as she watched him with mounting excitement. He had lost none of the definition of his body with age, and she watched his muscles move under his skin, the scars that she was by now so familiar with stretching as he unfastened his breeches and unceremoniously dropped them onto the sand. Then he went back to her, watching her expectant face with a slight smile as he ran his hand softly over her face and slowly down onto her breast, and said, “Where were we?”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

Bethany ran out of the house to see what the commotion was all about. The chickens were going crazy, their frantic clucks and screams piercing the air, and through it all she could hear the goats’ loud, panicking bleating. Fidget, not quite as quick as he used to be, was flying circles around her head looking frantic and there was a rush of wind around the house that was nothing to do with the still weather. Expecting nothing short of a dragon attack she looked up as she got onto the courtyard, and she saw her worst fears confirmed as a very large triangular shape darkened the sky above her. “Master Sherlock!” she shouted as she backed into the house, unsure what to do, all her childhood terror of dragons rekindled in an instant.

Sherlock came charging out of his apothecary, grabbing a rapier off the wall by the door as he ran outside, looking up at the sky as Bethany stayed by the door, shaking. The dragon circled the courtyard, getting lower and lower as Sherlock stood in the centre of his home ground and reluctantly raised his blade to the sky. Suddenly he seemed to freeze as he looked up, and a familiar voice shouted down, “Dad, put the sword down!”

\--oOo-- 

Sherrinford slid off the enormous dragon a little sheepishly, looking at his mother with an apologetic smile. “Ehm, sorry mum, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Then he looked at Sherlock and grinned, and Bethany thought she had seen that grin before and it was odd seeing it return on her son’s face. “I got a new friend, dad. This is Treeslasher, he’s a Timberjack.”

Sherlock looked at the creature and shook his head, a delighted grin spreading over his face. “Could you not have picked something smaller?”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Ranald. As dependable as the tide.” Sherlock greeted his old friend with a warm embrace, peering around his shoulder to see if anybody was following him. “Did you bring Irene this year?”

Ranald gave him a meaningful smile and turned to Bethany, greeting her warmly. “Hello little bird, where are all these grey feathers coming from?”

Sherlock frowned at Ranald and then turned as there was a noise at the gate, and Irene slowly entered the compound, looking a little giggly, dragging somebody behind her who was clearly not keen to follow her. Eventually Hägar stepped through the gate with a face that was a mixture of nerves and defiance, holding Irene’s hand and looking at Sherlock, daring him to say something.

Sherlock’s face went through a rapid succession of shock, denial, anger, more shock and then a moment of inward reflection, after which he took a very deep breath and said quietly, “Hägar. I hope you are looking after my daughter.”

Hägar took a little sardonic bow and said, “Nice recovery, Captain Sherlock. I was expecting you to get your blunt spoon out.”

Sherlock held his gaze a moment before answering, “I have made any number of morally dubious decisions in my life, Master Hägar. It is not for me to judge.”

Irene bristled at this, clearly having expected a fight and now believing she had found one. “Are you saying I am making the wrong decision, dad?”

Sherlock smiled at his daughter, in no way prepared to give her an argument immediately after not seeing her for six months. “No, Irene, I am not saying that at all. I was merely briefly questioning Master Hägar’s choices, not yours.”

Irene huffed and said, “Hägar has been very good to me.” Then, in an obvious attempt to shock her father, she added, “And I will have you know that he is very creative.”

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at her, and then turned his gaze to Hägar, who held his eye calmly and with only the slightest hint of insolence as Sherlock said, “I know,” leaving Irene to go bright red and Ranald to roar with laughter.


	89. Epilogue (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. If you do not wish to see Sherlock pass away contentedly in old age then skip this epilogue.
> 
> In which not even pirates have eternal life.

She had watched him for months as he slowly grew more gaunt, beginning to tire far too easily, knowing that things were not right but unable to raise it with him for fear of drawing attention to it. When she found him that afternoon, only a few weeks before Midsummer, doubled over in his chair in pain she could no longer ignore the obvious. Bethany knelt by Sherlock’s side, taking his hand, and said, “You are not well, Sir.”

He grimaced at her, nodding, and made himself sit upright with effort as he grasped her hand. When the worst of it had passed he shook his head and said, “I have not been well for a long time, Bethany. I am old, in body if not in spirit. My time grows short.”

 She wanted to deny it, to tell him that he would recover, that he would find some cure for his ailment in his apothecary where he was spending so much of his time these days, but she could see in his eyes that he knew he was right. He stroked her face as a tear ran down her cheek, and said, “I have tried everything I can think of, Bethany. But my body is failing me.”

\--oOo-- 

She had made him as comfortable as she could, propping him up in his bed and fetching him whatever food and drink he felt he could eat, gathering the bottles that he requested from the apothecary and seeing to his needs as required. He smiled at her as she went about her worried business, seemingly quite at peace with the situation, his eyes and mind as sharp as ever even as his body betrayed him. He would sit and sing to her when he felt up to it, or tell her a last few remaining tales that she had not yet heard, and she sat and cherished every single moment and tried to keep her spirits up for him.

One afternoon he sat her down and told her in detail all the places she would be able to find his treasure, and he made her repeat it back to him and promise to never write any of it down. “There is enough there to keep you fed and clothed royally for many years, Bethany, and it is well spread out across the islands. But I would have you go to Berk when I pass away, because this place is no home for you on your own.” She nodded and promised him, since she could not envisage living here alone, although she found it hard to imagine a life without him at all.

\--oOo-- 

Sherrinford arrived first for the annual Midsummer celebrations, followed in the afternoon by Ranald, who brought Irene and Hägar. It was a sombre gathering in Sherlock’s bedroom, the children unsure of what to say, Hägar keeping his own council as Bethany hovered over Sherlock, and Ranald simply regarding his former captain gravely as he held his hand. Sherlock grimaced at them, rolling his eyes, and said, “For Loki’s sake, I’m not dead yet. I will not spend my last days feeling like I’m at my own burial. Tell me tales, or sing. Or indeed show me how my daughter’s sword skills have improved. That’s an order, Ranald.”

Ranald bowed with a smile and an “Aye, aye, Captain,” and turned to Irene, drawing a sword. “Defend yourself.”

Irene stared at him and shook her head. “Sir, you can’t... Not here.”

Ranald looked at her quite seriously. “Indeed, I can and I will, as I am acting on a direct order. Now,” He used his rapier to point at objects in the room in quick succession, “Your mother, your brother, Master Hägar and Captain Sherlock live. None of the art in this room gets broken or damaged. The furniture is fair game but the bed is not. There are consequences for failure.”

He had barely finished the sentence when he lunged, and Irene stared at him for one horrified moment before ducking and rolling away from him, drawing her own sword as she came to her feet again. Sherrinford pressed himself against the wall as Hägar took to a corner and Bethany stood by Sherlock, shaking her head in disapproval, but Sherlock lay in his bed grinning as he watched the bizarre fight which was carried out on tiptoe and with great reverence towards his personal collection of artefacts and the other people in the room.

Ranald clearly had more experience in manoeuvring himself around such a constrained space, and Irene grew more and more frustrated with her lack of arm room and the presence the myriad obstacles she had to navigate. Eventually she lunged at Ranald, who was forced backwards momentarily, and used her advantage to drop her rapier and pull a short knife from her belt. On Ranald’s next attack she dodged his blade and ducked in close to him, putting the knife to his throat and grinning at what she thought was an easy victory. Ranald stood still but raised an amused eyebrow, inclining his head to his other hand which suddenly held a knife of its own, hovering close over Irene’s back with its point on her kidneys. As the realisation of what he had done dawned on her face Ranald grinned, and said, “Stalemate.”

\--oOo-- 

The days that followed were surreal, and Bethany always remembered them as an in-between time, where everybody knew what the final outcome would be but nobody spoke about it, or knew when it would occur. It was a strangely calm time, as everything revolved around Sherlock’s wishes and all else was on hold. They sang and told tales, Ranald danced with Bethany, and Hägar was drawn out of his shell to spar with Irene. He won the match, celebrating his victory with a kiss so passionate that it had Sherlock glare briefly in protective rage before shaking his head with a resigned sigh.

As time went on, however, Sherlock grew ever more tired and slept frequently, and it was clear that he was in pain when he was awake. Bethany sat by him late one evening after everyone else had retired, and he smiled wanly at her as she held his hand. “I pass tonight, Bethany,” he said, “Please wake Ranald for me as I wish to say goodbye, and I need him to bear witness.”

She nodded, biting back tears, and said, “Shall I wake the children, too, Sir?”

Sherlock shook his head weakly. “No. They need to look forward, not back. There are two letters I wrote them some weeks ago in the top drawer,” He gestured vaguely at his chest of drawers. “The house and the island go to Sherrinford, Bethany, and the Storm Petrel to Irene. There are some valuables left to them, too, if they can decipher my maps. Other than that they are full of fatherly advice,” He grimaced in pain a moment, then added, “Which they will no doubt ignore.”

\--oOo-- 

“Captain.” Ranald sat down on the other side of the bed from Bethany as he took Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock smiled at him for the use of his old title and touched his friend’s face. “Thank you, Ranald,” he said quietly, “For a life fully lived.”

Next to him, Bethany burst into tears and Sherlock turned to her, stroking her face in turn as she said, sounding desperate, “How can you be so _calm_ about this, Sir?”

He smiled at her. “When I set out, Bethany,” he said softly, “I expected a short and violent existence, a brief moment of fiery glory before a legendary death in battle. To be here, now, with all this,” He gestured weakly at the house and at the two of them sitting by them, “And to have old friends, even a family,” He shook his head and looked at her, his eyes still as clear as the day she first met him, but calm and open with a look of wonder, “It has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He lifted his hands to her throat, shaking a little, and she looked at him in a daze as she realised what he was doing when with some effort he removed the collar around her neck. Smiling at her surprise, he said, “Bethany Goldfish Eiriksdottir, I release you from any and all duties, and I implore you to travel to Berk and seek a new life for yourself.”

Bethany shook her head as she cried, and said, “I would go with you, Sir.”

Sherlock shook his head in turn. “No, Bethany. Go to Berk, find a place to live among friends, and share the stories. Teach the children the Dread Pirate Sherlock song. Tell tales of your life with the pirate who loved you and I will go on to live forever.”

She met his eyes through her tears as she registered that he had spoken the one thing he had never been able to admit to her, although she had known it, of course, for many years, and he looked back and smiled at her as she kissed his face and whispered a thank you.

With nothing further to say they sat in silence as Sherlock quietly drifted off, until Bethany suddenly stirred and said with a look of horror, “Sir, you will not enter Valhalla this way.”

Sherlock opened his eyes wearily and looked at her a moment in contemplation, looking almost indifferent. Beside him, Ranald got up and returned with a rapier, which he placed on Sherlock’s chest, wrapping his hands around the hilt. Sherlock smiled vaguely and said softly, “I was preparing to burn in a fiery afterlife for my deeds, in obeisance to the vindictive God I was raised with. But I will cheat him, too, and travel to your Viking Valhalla.” He sighed, meeting both their eyes a moment, and added, “I hope to meet you both there one day.” Then he closed his eyes and lay back, smiling once more before whispering, “It is enough.”


	90. Epilogue (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which life carries on.

“Granny Bethany, Jorgen says you were a slave, once. Is that true?”

The little blonde girl had turned up to her house unannounced with a small group of scruffy friends, looking excited and expectant. Bethany was quite used to the children of the village turning up with questions, usually as a ruse to obtain a quick snack, and so she smiled and got the earthenware pot they were all staring at and let them each take a biscuit. Then she said, “Yes, I was, Hilde. And I was living all alone with the great Dread Pirate Sherlock on a faraway island for years and years.”

The little girl’s eyes grew bigger. “Whoa. Was he really scary?”

Bethany smiled, and said, “Oh yes, he was, sometimes. But he grew to love me, you know, and he was kind to me. But his enemies he would slay like _that_.” She snapped her fingers, putting on a frightening face, and some of the children jumped a little. Then she laughed. “There’s a song about him, do you want to hear it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, my friends. Thank you for staying until the end.


End file.
